“Greta, do you think Coronado is the most wonderful place on the planet?” I asked as we passed the Cape Cod home I came to know as the half-mile marker.
“Beats Texas, I’ll tell you that,” she said, laughing. “You know I could actually be lynched for saying that in Dallas? Legally, too. I think they’d call it treason.”
“Treason against Texas?”
“Buying a fuel-efficient car is treason in Texas.”
“Was it really all that bad?” I asked. “You did stay for eight years. I think you hate it because your heart was broken there.”
She sighed as if to say maybe. “I don’t know if my heart was broken there or if I was merely grossly disappointed by the way things turned out.” I was silent, hoping she’d continue. “I really wanted things to work out with Terry, but, well, there was such a lack of core compatibility, I guess. I wanted to do things and go places and Terry was kind of a dud. At first, I thought our differences complemented each other, but then the complacency with life, the complete lack of drive, started to drive me crazy.” Greta’s voice filled with frustration and a shake of anger.
“Guys are like that. They just want to sit on the couch all day and watch sports. Women are always the ones driving the social calendar.”
Greta laughed. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be so quick to write it off as a gender thing. Plus, when we had that scare with Mom’s tumor, I realized I wanted—”
“What tumor?!” I stopped running.
“Keep moving, honey. It’s not good to stop suddenly like that,” she coaxed. “It was no big deal. Turned out to be benign, but it got me thinking that if I’m not serious about settling down and starting a family in Texas, I should get back to the homestead and be near the people I really love.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me your mom had a cancer scare. Why wouldn’t you tell me something so important?!”
“Mom said she didn’t want anyone to know because they start treating you differently,” Greta explained. “They talk softer, put their hand on your shoulder, turn their heads to the side and ask, “How are you?’” She laughed. “I can understand. She didn’t want to go from Brenda, the person, to Brenda, the cancer patient. Or Brenda, the tumor.”
“I wouldn’t have done that,” I said.
“You wouldn’t have wanted to, but you might have. Anyway, she’s fine now so there’s no need to mention this to her.”
We ran in silence for the next few miles until Greta asked if I wanted to get a cup of coffee. I told her I’d walk to Starbucks with her, but that I’d pass on the coffee. I wanted to start making plans to visit Missoula. “Tell me if you think this is a crazy idea,” I began.
“There are no crazy ideas, only crazy people.”
“Seriously,” I said as we walked briskly. “I was thinking that I’ve never been back to Missoula since the accident. Really, I never saw Francesca after. I don’t even think I got to say good-bye to her. I don’t remember. Anyway, I want to get on the net and see if she’s still there, and if she is, I want to go back for a visit. Do you think that’s crazy?”
Greta said she thought it was an excellent idea. “I don’t know why you haven’t done it sooner, but I guess we’re all ready when we’re ready.” She swung the door of the Starbucks open and greeted a fresh-faced boy with jet-black hair and an eyebrow piercing.
“Morning Texas Tea.” He smiled. “Morning Skinny Chai,” he said to me.
I smiled, incredulous that anyone could be so happy to be serving coffee. “Mona’s fine. What happened to the other guy?”
“What other guy?” he asked. “I’m the only guy here.” He winked.
On my walk back to the house, I saw Captain John in one of his usual crisp short-sleeved oxford shirts. Today’s selection was burnt orange, which went nicely with his white hair and beige shorts.
“Morning, sir,” I said.
“Morning, Mona,” he said, more chipper than I’d ever seen him. “I spoke to my brother in New York and it hit freezing last night. Got a layer of frost on his windshield even, ha!”
“In May?” I was astounded.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
“You seem very happy this morning, sir.” I think he may have actually blushed when I said that. “New girlfriend?” I pushed the envelope.
John was clearly taken aback by my comment, for which I quickly apologized. “That was inappropriate, please forgive me. Grammy would have had my head for talking to you that way, sir.”
“That’s fine, dear. I’m sorry I reacted that way.”
“No, no, it’s my fault, please. You deserve every happiness after losing your wife.”
John sighed as though I’d deflated his new helium balloon. I’m such a socially inept moron. Here was a kindly old widower enjoying possibly the first morning of the year and I come and stick a pin in it. The captain put his hand over his heart and lowered his head. Is there a doctor around?!
“Are you okay, sir?!” I panicked.
“I’m fine,” he said sadly. “It seems you have no idea how much ... I should keep my trap shut.”
“No idea how much what?” I asked. “Do you want to sit down somewhere? Let me make you a glass of carrot juice. We’re a half block from the house.” I put my arm around him and we walked at his elderly pace. I watched his white soft sole shoes shuffle in front of each other and noticed for the first time how large his earlobes were.
Captain John was one of the few men who actually accepted my offer for carrot juice. He excused himself to “wash up” before I remembered that he was going into Victoria Hitchcock’s warped little creation. “Good Lord in heaven!” I heard him gasp through the closed door. “That’s quite a unique latrine,” he said upon his return.
“You don’t like it?”
“I love it. I’m quite a fan of picture shows,” he said. “Your grandmother and I used to drive to the city and see movies together quite a bit.”
“Hmm,” I said suspiciously. “Why not here on the island?”
“You know how people talk.” He shooed his hand.
“Men and women weren’t friends like they are today. If a gentleman and lady were friends, there was most certainly some hanky-panky.”
I inhaled and asked the question that everyone on the island had silently wondered at one point or another. I felt guilty because I would have never interrogated the captain this way if Grammy were still alive. But I felt like he came here to tell me something, and this was it. “So was there any, um, hanky-panky going on with you two?”
“With Caroline?” he said her name in such a way that there had to be. It was like he was holding a fragile collectible. With Caroline? It was too precious not to be love. I wondered how the captain would deal with the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy now that I was most definitely, indelicately asking. “Absolutely not,” he said, almost self-righteously as he watched me sacrifice carrots into the vicious juicer. He paused for a beat. “Though I loved her deeply.” His eyes welled with tears. “I believe the feeling was mutual.”
His words took me back to a time before I lived here, but I could see Grammy applying her lipstick and checking her teeth the way she would before an important outing. He would never know her private idiosyncrasies the way a husband would, and yet he was probably the cause of so many of her mirror rituals.
I handed him a tall glass of carrot juice and sat by him at the kitchen counter. “Tell me everything. Isn’t that why you’re here, John? Don’t you want to tell someone how much you miss Grammy? Aren’t you feeling a little guilty that everyone is asking you about how you’re getting along without Anne when you were in love with Grammy? You can tell me. I loved her, too. I promise I won’t judge the two of you. It’s not like the two of you would’ve been the first to have an affair.”
“An affair?!” John barked. “We certainly did not have an affair. I knew your grandfather. Caroline and Anne were friends. We never so much as held hands, I’ll have you know. It was a fri
endship, young lady.”
“A friendship that would have been more if you both weren’t married?”
With that, his eyes welled with tears.
Chapter 35
Captain John stayed at the house for two hours that morning telling me more about Grammy than I’d ever known. It was the first time I’d ever considered Grammy as a woman with a need to emotionally and physically connect with a man. It’s not just that she was my elderly grandmother; she was an icy fortress that was tough to see through. I got to see her fun side, but I also saw the chilly front she presented to the world.
“Your grandfather was a good man,” John prefaced. “He built that business from nothing, you know. By the time he passed on, he employed nearly five hundred people,” John said like a man who felt guilty. “He was at the office constantly, though, and Caroline was very lonely. One day she came by to give Anne something or other for a charity luncheon they were co-hosting and, well, Anne must’ve forgotten about it or got caught up somewhere else, I don’t even remember. Anyway, we started talking and it was the first time I’d ever seen your grandmother smile, and though it was inappropriate I told her she had the prettiest smile.
“It was awkward, but the spark was undeniable. We both tried to kill it, but one day we ran into each other and I just told her it was high time we cleared the air. We took a long drive and let everything out, and I can’t tell you what a relief that was. For the both of us, I think. Anyway, we knew we couldn’t act on it, which was very difficult, and I hate to say this, but I think it was harder on her than it was on me because I still loved Anne very much. Your grandfather was a good man, but he was never around. Caroline and I went on our drives and snuck downtown to the picture show every now and again, which was perfect for me but made your grandmother very unhappy. When we returned to the island, I came home to Anne. Caroline didn’t have that. When she came home it was to an empty house where your grandfather wouldn’t return until ten, eleven o’clock at night sometimes later.
“Caroline was very, very depressed. On several occasions, she told me not to call her anymore because it was too hard seeing me, being in love with me, and not being able to be with me for any more than a few hours. Remaining platonic was difficult for both of us. She was always kind to Anne, but I could tell that she was jealous. I know that must sound awfully egotistical, but it’s what she said.” John sighed and asked me if he should go on.
I nodded.
“She was horribly depressed. Caroline even started taking those mood elevators to help her get through her crying spells. The poor woman used to spend days on end in bed. I didn’t know what to do. Mona, I hated myself for being the cause of her pain. I wanted to spend more time with her, but I was married. She was married. I promise you we never even kissed.”
I couldn’t understand why it was so important for John to clarify that he and Grammy never had a physical relationship when clearly what they had was a love affair. Several times, he assured me that he had not defiled my grandmother, though I wonder if his repeated denials of an accusation that hadn’t been made were simply a chivalrous attempt to protect her reputation with me. He said he tried to respect Grammy’s wishes to end their relationship, but after a few weeks, she always wound up calling him, saying she’d try to compartmentalize better.
“Caroline was a mess until you came along, Mona,” he continued. “Honestly, I think you saved her. About a week after you moved in, she called and asked me not to call her anymore. Anne and I were on a cruise over the holidays so I hadn’t heard about the accident or your moving in, so I laughed and asked her how long this New Year’s resolution was going to last. She was icy like she hadn’t been before, and said this was really it. She had a teenage granddaughter living with her, and that if this all blew up, she could never be an appropriate role model for you. And that was it. Caroline never called again. We never saw another movie or took another drive. We saw each other and she was always cordial. A few times, there were moments when that chemistry sparked between us, but your grandmother always looked away or ended the conversation. Then she was completely immersed in Coronado Clean, which was her life until that whole matter was worked out.”
John stopped at my perplexed expression. “Coronado Clean?” I asked.
“I’m surprised you don’t remember. About a year after you moved in with Caroline, there was a plan to open a strip club near the base. People were so upset about the element such a place would bring to our island, but Caroline did the lion’s share of lobbying to keep those people out of Coronado.”
As if on a director’s cue, Vicki walked into the kitchen in her silk pajamas. “Ohmigod!” she gasped at the sight of the captain. “I didn’t think anyone was here.”
I introduced the two, John as an old family friend and Vicki as my favorite live-in decorator. Vicki, this is John, who had an affair of the heart with my Grammy. John, this is Vicki. She gives lap dances.
“You’re a very creative young lady,” John said. “Interesting bathroom decor.”
Vicki promptly announced that she had decorated the two downstairs guest rooms and was getting ready to “Tarafy” the living room. Her cadence sped with excitement “Do you want a tour of what I’m going to do? Mona wants it to be a surprise, but I’d love to show someone who knows her how it’s all going to look. Well, my brother has been on the tour and he knows Mona, but anyway that doesn’t count ‘cause he wasn’t really into it, so I didn’t get the type of validation I so need and deserve.” She giggled. John politely nodded, prompting Vicki to outstretch her hand for his as though he’d just accepted her invitation to the VIP room.
I rinsed John’s empty glass and thought about what he’d shared with me about Grammy. Caroline. I couldn’t imagine why I wasn’t appalled that my grandmother may have very well had an extramarital affair, though I did feel a certain heaviness that she’d been so unhappy for all of those years. I’m not sure if I was angry with John for causing Grammy so much pain, or grateful to him for the happiness he brought her if only in thrifty spoonfuls.
“Oh, this is great!” exclaimed John from the guest bedroom.
“Do you like it?” Vicki fished for more.
“I love it. You have the magic touch, Vicki. You sure know how to add new life to a bedroom.”
I shuddered. Though I knew they were talking interior design, the soundtrack was unsettling.
Chapter 36
When I entered Francesca’s name in my computer search engine, I hoped to find that she was still alive. This, as it turns out, was a grotesque understatement as Francesca’s name turned up more than 700 results. I had to wonder if there were other Francesca Greenwoods, which there were, but mine occupied most of the cyberspace with articles she authored opposing the war against Iraq, meditation for senior citizens, and a feature on Missoula’s upcoming bicentennial celebration of Lewis and Clark’s expedition. Francesca was on the board of directors at Hunter’s Glen retirement community, past president of the Older Women’s League, and even ran in a close race for city council in 1992, Clinton’s Year of the Woman. Her most recent rants were defending the Dixie Chicks’ condemnation of President Bush, and a call for the city of Missoula to prominently feature Sacagawea, the sixteen-year-old mother who guided the expedition, in its celebration. “If there’s anyone who gets less recognition than women, it’s Native Americans. I know we’re supposed to feel grateful that they put Sacagawea on the new dollar coin, but since that is used only slightly more than the Susan B. Anthony silver dollar, I’d say we still owe the gal something more meaningful, Missoula,” Francesca mused. She was so much more alive than I’d ever hoped.
I sat back in my chair and opened more web sites that contained her name, hoping to find her e-mail address. I couldn’t find her contact information, but learned more about how Francesca had been spending her time since the accident. Two years ago, she was part of a committee that led 4,000 volunteers to create the Dragon Hollow Play Area next to the new hand-carved carousel.
Her city council campaign focused on slowing the commercial and residential development of Missoula and beautifying the walkway along the Clark Fork River. “There are too many homes in South Hills and Miller Creek,” she told a reporter. The Clark Fork River. South Hills and Miller Creek. The words I hadn’t heard, uttered, or read in fifteen years caused thunder in my heart. My eyes scanned to the bottom of the article, where Francesca was described as the sole survivor from the “Magic Bus Accident of 1987.” Sole survivor? Not since Jayson Blair’s articles in the New York Times had a two-line characterization been so inaccurate. For a split second, I wondered if I’d imagined my entire life on the commune. If life other than Coronado ever really existed.
I heard the familiar chime of someone sending me an Instant Message.
Surfing porn on the net again, Mona Lisa?
And with that simple tease, I knew that my life had gone exactly as I remembered it, as unmemorable as major chunks of it were. Mona Lisa, my existential affirmation that was indeed really here. I swooned so at the sight of his e-mail address I was grateful for the electronic shield Internet communication provides. The last thing I needed was a male chauvinist dog seeing me twirl my hair around my index finger and bring my knees to my chest I thanked the technological lag that kept my giggle from reaching Mike’s ears.
Hey stranger, I wrote then erased. Too accusing. Oh, hey what’s up? Trying too hard to be casual. I opted for a simple Hi once I realized that my response time was taking way too long.
What are you doing up so late? Mike asked. I looked at the clock to see it was two-thirty in the morning.
I’m looking for a woman in Missoula. I’m thinking I want to go back and visit her. I haven’t been back since I left.
Reinventing Mona Page 22