The Widow and the Rock Star

by J. Thomas-Like

  “Keep your computer at the ready, darling. We will Skype tonight, yeah?”

  “Y-yes,” Pepper stammered as she dabbed at her eyes.

  After many kisses and several long embraces, Pepper finally let him go. She stood on the porch of the house and watched him drive away until the rental car disappeared down the long block and she couldn’t see it anymore.

  “Shit,” she muttered, swiping angrily at the wetness in her eyes. While Pepper had no qualms at all about staying with Vivienne and helping her through any tough times, she knew it was going to be a lot harder without having Gabe at hand for her own support.

  Letting herself inside, Pepper knew immediately something was different. Even though it was very faint, she could hear the sound of typing coming from somewhere in the house. Going down the hall toward Vivienne’s bedroom, she could see that the door was open and her friend was not in bed. The only other place in the small home she could be was the basement.

  Pepper hesitated at the top of the stairs, debating on whether or not she should interrupt. Vivienne could be in the middle of something good, and Pepper didn’t want to ruin it. Surely her footsteps and the creaking floors had alerted Vivienne to her presence. Just as she lifted her foot to take the first step down, the typing stopped.

  “I know you’re home,” came Vivienne’s voice, floating up the stairs.

  “Can I come down?” Pepper called back.

  “Maybe later. I don’t want to break my stride.”

  “Okay. Do you want anything? Something to eat?”

  “No!”

  Pepper frowned at the snarky tone, but abided by Vivienne’s wishes. She would wait this phase out, just like all the others.

  Chapter 54

  I could feel Pepper’s presence in the house, but I wouldn’t be lured away from the keyboard. When she’d left the night before, I had thought I would stay in bed and wallow some more until I fell asleep. But, lying there, I kept thinking about things I’d done with my mother. Or things she had said to me. Stories and memories from my childhood. I should write this stuff down, I’d thought and then I felt like the world’s biggest idiot.

  I was a writer, and instead of putting all my thoughts and feelings down on paper, I’d been floundering around in my grief like a turtle on its back. I’d started out with my laptop in bed, but I couldn’t get comfortable and my hands kept bumping the touch pad causing whole paragraphs to get deleted. I found myself hitting control Z to undo more than I was writing and that pissed me off. So I headed to the basement writing nook, where my dinosaur of a desktop waited.

  It hadn’t taken long to get into the zone. Hours sped by as I poured out all the stories jumbling around in my brain. No detail went unrecorded. No feeling went unexplored. I never once bothered to wipe away the tears when they came. I didn’t stop, except to go to the bathroom, but not until I thought I would wet myself if I didn’t.

  The fluorescent lighting in the basement and lack of true windows kept me from keeping track of time. I had no idea night had come and gone. I didn’t see the sun rise or care. I just kept chipping away at the rock of grief that had settled in my heart. And all the words and stories didn’t just focus on Mom. I rehashed Dad’s illness and Bruce’s death. I compared the grief and levels of depression, experiencing it all over again.

  And as all of the memories and thoughts and emotions burst out of my brain and onto the page, self-awareness bloomed like the daisies in my backyard, each petal a new level of understanding of myself and my life.

  My early childhood was idyllic, with my parents spoiling me to some degree, as an only child. They managed to teach me right from wrong, and kept me from being too much of a brat. My teenage years had the requisite amount of angst as I tested their patience by staying out late and using my wardrobe and music choices to rebel. They remained patient and understanding, treating me with a more adult respect, expecting me to make the right choices and decisions. I always did because I didn’t want to disappoint them. Mom and Dad gave me an intellectual understanding of the world, but I was definitely protected from a lot of harsh realities. Even though I loved my parents desperately, I couldn’t help but feel they’d done me a huge disservice.

  The first time I ever did venture out of my comfort zone was when I married Bruce. Our meeting was by chance at a sorority party (he didn’t even go to Michigan State University) and our romance was stereotypically whirlwind. When he told me he was enlisting and proposed to me, I accepted on the spot. It was the stuff romantic dreams are made of. My writer’s heart could never have said no.

  Mom and Dad were devastated, and even tried to forbid me from doing it, but that was a farce. I was their only child and nothing I did could make them not be there for me. In typical fashion, they helped to make the small, fast wedding a beautiful affair. They organized and paid the expenses every time I moved to be with Bruce at a new post. They took care of me as much as they had when I was living with them. I was torn between feeling grateful at the memory of not having to struggle and feeling angry that I hadn’t had to stand on my own two feet.

  After Bruce died and Mom and Dad had rescued me, yet again, I lived with them for six years. I went back and finished college. I wanted to get my degree in English with a master’s in creative writing, but I allowed them to convince me to get a teaching certificate so I would have something to “fall back on.” I couldn’t remember getting angry at the time, thinking they were trying to squash my dreams or demonstrate their lack of confidence in my writing. But I was angry now. Why couldn’t they have shown the littlest bit of faith in me? It seemed pointless to be mad about it, considering I’d proven them wrong. I wasn’t wealthy, but I earned enough to buy a small house and live on my own. I just couldn’t help myself. The bitterness I was feeling as I punched on the keys was probably a product of grief. Because they weren’t here to defend themselves, I was able to make them the scapegoats.

  The longer I wrote, the more energized I felt. I should have been exhausted and yearning to give myself over to sleep, but I wasn’t. I could have gone to one of the couches and snatched a catnap. I should have been starving, since I couldn’t remember the last time I ate. Pepper was waiting for me, and I could have gone upstairs to be with her.

  Instead, I stayed where I was, typing faster and faster as the anguish inside splashed onto the screen like a cocktail thrown in my face. All my life, things came easily to me. Sometimes it was because I was smart and capable, but mostly it boiled down to the machinations of my parents and friends. I was weak and incapable of managing difficult situations. I was emotionally unprepared for life’s tragedies and pitfalls. Even now, my best friend waited upstairs for me, probably nervous as a fly caught in a spider’s web. Pepper was probably waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering what kind of a shape I would be in when I came up, and what kind of a mess she would have to deal with.

  How could I face her now that I truly understood who I was?

  Well, I was going to have to. The only person left in my life who was going to help me was me. I wasn’t going to rely on anyone else again.

  Chapter 55

  Pepper brushed off her knees, flipping away bits of dirt and grass. Pulling weeds while Vivienne wrote gave her a sense of accomplishment for herself. It also gave her time to think. She had no idea what to expect when Viv finally drug herself up from the basement. Would she be exhausted and go straight to bed? Pepper was sure she’d been up all night writing. Would there be another messy breakdown to walk her through?

  “God, I hope not,” she said aloud to no one but the birds in the trees and the bugs buzzing around. Immediately, she felt guilty for thinking that. What else was she here for but to walk Vivienne through the gauntlets of her grief? Cutting herself a little slack, Pepper knew it wasn’t wrong to not want another breakdown.

  Looking around, Pepper decided the lawn needed actual mowing. She didn’t know the first thing about using a lawnmower, but figured now was as good a time as any to figure it o
ut. She wandered through the grass to the shed in the back of the yard, but found it locked up tight. She poked her toe at a couple of pavers that looked loose, wondering if maybe Vivienne had hidden a key.

  “You won’t find a key.”

  Pepper turned around at the sound of Vivienne’s voice, surprised at the strength in it. Her best friend stood at the end of the patio holding a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses on it.

  “Gardening is thirsty work. Come have a seat with me.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Pepper said with a smile. She trotted across the yard to the patio table conveniently hiding beneath a large umbrella. Throwing herself into one of the chairs, she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “It’s pretty hot out here.”

  “Yes, it is. That shouldn’t be a problem for a girl from California, though.” Vivienne grinned and poured glasses for each of them, then sat down, too. “Thank you for tending to the weeds. It could have become a jungle out here.”

  “My pleasure. It’s nice to fiddle with a patch of grass.” Pepper swigged down half of the lemony, sweet liquid in one gulp. She felt refreshed already, boosted by the calm mood coming from Vivienne. “You look really tired.”

  “Thank you. That’s always a kind way of telling someone they look like shit.”

  Pepper snorted.

  “Now, you know that’s not true. If I thought you looked like shit, I’d say it straight out.”

  Vivienne nodded.

  “Yeah, you’re right. No pulled punches from you. It’s a shame everyone in my life hasn’t been as honest as you.”

  “What do you mean?” Pepper’s brows furrowed and her stomach tightened with anxiety.

  “Oh I’m just feeling pissed off right now.” Vivienne slouched down in her chair and leaned her head back. “I’m going to be forty in a couple of months and I’m no better prepared for life than a four-year-old.”

  Pepper opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it. She sensed a rant coming on, and didn’t think it would be a good idea to stop it. When Vivienne wanted to rant, it was like trying to stop a runaway train on the rails. So Pepper threw open the switch as the locomotive picked up steam.

  “How so?”

  “Just look at me. I’m a mess,” Vivienne sighed. “I won’t minimize the situation. Losing my mom is hard and it sucks. I’m angry and sad and depressed. I feel like I’ve lost one of the last things in my life that was worth sticking around for. But Jesus Christ, people die all the time. I’m not the first person to lose her parents and I won’t be the last. Most people cry and grieve and then pull themselves up by their bootstraps to get on with life. Oh, but not me. I break down and hide under the covers. I collapse into a pile of goo. I let everyone else pick up the pieces and take care of me like I was a child.”

  Vivienne yanked herself up to sit straight in the chair. Slamming her elbow down on the table, she pointed at Pepper with her index finger.

  “My parents kept me sheltered and protected all of my life, whenever anything bad happened. Instead of telling me to get my head out of my ass, they just stepped in and handled whatever situation needed to be dealt with. Not once did they ever say ‘Vivienne, buck up.’ Why did they do that?”

  Pepper hoped the question was rhetorical, because she had no valid answer. Once, she was jealous of how loving and caring Vivienne’s parents were, wishing she’d had the same. But listening to Vivienne, it occurred to her that her own upbringing had given her the backbone to go out and achieve everything she’d ever set out to.

  “I’ll tell you why they did it,” Vivienne snarled. “Because I was the only kid they had and they loved me. They loved me too much. They didn’t want me to struggle like they did. They wanted only the best for me all the time. And that’s great. Awesome! But they didn’t think about what it was going to be like for me one day when they were gone. They forgot to teach me how to deal with life’s crappiest situations so that I could pick up my own pieces and move on.”

  Vivienne stood up and began to pace around the patio.

  “I feel bad about it, but I’m so fucking pissed right now I can hardly see straight! My mom was my best friend besides you. But you don’t do that to your kid. Especially when it’s your only kid. Because if you die, your kid is left alone and unable to handle shit. People have kids for all kinds of reasons but, in the end, when they get old, the kid is supposed to be able to take care of herself. The kid is supposed to step up to the plate and take over, so that the parent doesn’t have to deal with it alone and deal with a kid who can’t survive.

  “I’m hating myself right now, even though I know I’m not a bad person. I know I’m a good person, in spite of all my shortcomings. I did a lot of things right in my life and made my folks proud in a lot of ways. I made something of myself in spite of them. But I don’t think I could look at myself in the mirror right now without throwing up. All I’d see is the fragile, uncertain, waste of skin I’ve been.”

  Pepper watched with pride as Vivienne strode back and forth. Vivienne was coming into her own, in a way, and Pepper was grateful to be there as a witness. She felt confident that Olivia and Daniel Forest were smiling down on their daughter.

  *****

  Oh, I was in the thick of it now. I raved and carried on like an evangelical preacher on Sunday while Pepper gazed at me in awe.

  “I don’t care how bad it makes me sound. I’m mad at my mom and dad for not teaching me to be stronger! I’ve been weak and sniveling and oh so willing to let others take care of me and my life, all of my life! Well no more! From this day forward, I’m in charge of myself. And I’m not going to let anyone else be responsible.”

  Suddenly, my knees began to tremble. My limbs got that shaky feeling when your blood sugar takes a nose dive. I slumped into my chair and took a deep, shuddery breath. I grabbed my glass of lemonade and shot-gunned the last inch of liquid.

  “You finished?” Pepper asked, her tone soft and gentle, without any hint of reproach.

  “For the moment.” I winked at her and she grinned.

  “You want my opinion?”

  “Absolutely!”

  Pepper reached over and placed her hand on mine.

  “I am so proud of you right now. It’s not an easy thing to admit things, and I think you just opened a door that’s been slammed shut for a long time.”

  I leaned over and put my other hand on top of hers, squeezing.

  “Thank you.”

  “I love you, Vivvy. I know you’re going through a lot right now, but I want you to know that you’re the only person who’s ever stuck with me, my whole life. No matter what’s happened to you and how you wish you’d done things differently, you’ve always been there for me.”

  I could feel tears prickling my eyes and I breathed in deep the scent of summer sun and flowers from my backyard.

  “And you have been there for me much, much more, Pep.”

  Pepper shrugged.

  “This is what friends do. I’m happy to be here and I’ll do anything I can to help you. It doesn’t matter how messy it gets or how much leaning you need to do.”

  “Well, I’m hoping the whole leaning thing is over,” I said in all seriousness. “If you want to stick around and pat me on the back from time to time, I won’t kick you to the curb. But I’d much rather you stand beside me from now on, instead of holding me up.”

  Pepper grinned wickedly.

  “What? You mean I don’t have to wipe your boogey nose anymore?”

  I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. I was still wheezy as I said, “Nope. No more snot rags for you.”

  “Whew! That’s a relief. Can we get something to eat now?”

  “You bet!”

  Chapter 56

  “She did it again.”

  “What?” Pepper asked. She was sitting at the kitchen table, her Mac open to Facebook.

  Only a couple of days had passed since I’d had my shouting session in the backyard. I sat down across from her and rested m
y chin in the palms of my hands.

  “I just got off the phone with Mom’s lawyer. Apparently, she didn’t have a Last Will and Testament. She did something called a Lady Bird Deed on the house so it would transfer directly to me upon her death.” My head was spinning with all the information I’d gotten from the attorney.

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Well, yeah. I was already on her checking and savings accounts. And I’m her beneficiary for her life insurance and retirement stuff. I won’t have to go through probate to sell the house or her car.” I was torn between feeling relief and anger that, once again, Mom had taken care of me. Pepper watched me closely, and I could tell she was waiting to see what I would do before she offered any opinion. I decided to be grateful. There was one less hassle for me to deal with. “This is a good thing.”

  “Damn straight.” Pepper banged her hand on the table. “So you’re free to do whatever you like and you don’t have to wait around to do it.”

  “Yep.”

  “But at the same time, you won’t have to hurry up and make any big decisions right away, either.”

  “Yep.”

  Pepper nodded and leaned back in her chair. She was quiet and I didn’t say anything, either. After a while, she began to fidget.

  “Well?” she said. “What do we do now?”

  I had to laugh. I had overheard Pepper skyping with Gabriel and he had asked her when she would be coming back to California. She said she didn’t know, but that she hoped soon. I felt bad for eavesdropping and then worse because she was only staying to be with me. I knew I was going to have to let her go home sooner or later, so now seemed to be the right time to broach the subject.

  “Well, you don’t do anything. I will figure out what to do with the house and everything in it.” I got up and went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Leaning against the counter, I twisted open the cap and flipped it into the trash. After a long swallow, I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. “Pep, I think it’s time for you to go home.”