by Aliyat Lecky
Helen couldn’t see his face, but was sure he was wearing a grim expression that reflected his disappointment of them. Clearly, he was thinking just as she was that perhaps they might consider asking her if their real concern was for Helen. David would interpret their reaction as failure, because Richard and Sydney didn’t care enough really to talk to her about her concerns.
“I’ve got no more ideas than you two have. Carry on. I’ll just get myself a few items to go.” His tone was smug. He sounded as though he had already crammed a few items into his mouth.
“Anyway, Dad, you want her to be able to clear her head,” Sydney continued, as if David had not interrupted.
“You said that already, sis.”
“David.”
“Fine, Dad. My work is almost done here. Hey, where is the cranberry sauce?”
“Here. Besides” Sydney continued, trying to ignore her brother. “Mom could make it a girl’s trip. Have her take Angie with her.”
“Have her?” David’s voice indicated a hint of humor. “That’s part of your problem.” There was a measure of incredulous finality in his tone. He was prepared to depart, leaving them without his valuable insight.
Helen backed away from the door, ready to make it appear as if she were only coming down the stairs and just about to enter the kitchen.
“Tell Mom I love her, and that dinner was really great, as always.”
Helen sighed relief as she heard the back door to the gardens slam shut. David chose to exit through the back.
“You did see him take that wine, didn’t you?” Sydney clearly disapproved of her underage brother taking alcohol from their parents’ home.
“No, did he?” Richard had always been oblivious to David’s tricks. Had I been in the kitchen, Helen thought, David wouldn’t have made it out of the door with any booze. Helen would fuss at David later. She made a mental note she would talk to him soon. He was oddly silent during their conversation in the kitchen, and there was a quality in his tone that made him sound a little like a cat with a canary, as if he knew more than he was saying. Helen would feel him out later. Unlike Sydney, who had clearly chosen sides, David was remaining neutral.
David was quite the opposite of his older sister. He had been fussy from the beginning. He was born jaundiced, then developed colic before he gained a healthy baby complexion. He bit Helen so much during nursing that she was forced to give him a bottle at a much earlier age than she had Sydney. David also refused to be potty-trained until well into his third year. From there, things went quickly downhill. While Sydney reveled in being coddled and spoiled by her parents, David demanded independence at a very early age. Opting for public school by age ten, his adolescence was flavored with different, less homogeneous friendships. His experience growing up was quite different from Sydney’s to say the least and was far less sheltered. Due to the many different influences, David proved to be a child his parents had difficulty connecting with on any level. He barely spoke to either of them in his early adolescence. By the time he was sixteen, he used their house more as a pit stop—a place for fuel and warmth on cold winter days—than a home. That worried Helen, but Richard had settled on the idea that David simply behaved as the average boy his age. As long as he was in before curfew and stayed out of trouble, he was fine.
Lately, Helen’s relationship with her son and daughter had come full circle, perhaps due to his process of moving out. She and David had grown quite close during the past year or so, and particularly the past few months. She had come to understand that all, or at least most, of the resistance to a life she and Richard tried to carve out for him was due to the rich diversity he found in his friends. He seemed to be drawn to variety. He saw value in mixing it up. He expressed a genuine desire to surround himself, and be challenged by, different perspectives, which were sometimes in direct conflict with what he believed to be true. Helen knew she had to thank the city of Minneapolis and his group of friends for that. David spent more time in downtown Minneapolis than he did in the community in which he actually lived. Where Sydney was comfortable with the familiar, David was opened to possibilities. For that reason, he was stimulated by ideas, not loyal to people. Certainly, he would not choose between his parents as Sydney had.
“Okay, so I let her go alone, or with Angie, then what?” Richard said.
“Dad, aren’t you listening? I believe Mom needs time alone. She’s been pretty busy with her last book, and the pressure to get the next one started. Look…what do you suppose she thinks about alone in her hotel room when she’s away?”
Helen clicked her thumb and forefinger fingernail against the silence. She was beginning to feel a little guilty about listening in on their conversation, but her ignominy was not enough to persuade her to abandon the scene.
“Me, I suppose, and home. You kids.” Richard sounded hopeful. “She does call every night when she’s away, but she might not with Angie. You know how they are when they go off together.”
“Sort of. Only what David hears and cares to share. When he bothers to talk to me, that is.” There was a distinct tone of resentment in Sydney’s last comment. “You’re right. She won’t miss you if Angie is with her. Angie is too much like home.” They both seemed to be thinking quietly for a moment and neither spoke for some time. “Dad, what’s her new friend’s name? The painter? They’ve been spending a lot of time together. How about her?”
“Noami. The three of them hang out a lot.” Another pause.
Helen dug her thumbnail into the space between the two middle fingers of the same hand, an aide memoire to continue the reflex of pulling oxygen to her body. Her head swam in invisible heat that swirled around her and colored her face red. She didn’t breathe, afraid the sound of her own breath would make her miss any of the conversation-taking place over the small plastic containers of the remains of the Dahl-Muir Thanksgiving feast.
“Good idea, Sydney. I’ll suggest she takes Noami with her.”
Helen backed quietly away from the door. She wanted nothing more than to continue listening, but self-reproach pushed her back. Shame drove her back up the stairs to hide in her bedroom where a memory sprang upon her, like penance, as she slid between the cold sheets and covered herself with a warm blanket and salty tears.
***
“HELEN, COME HERE.” Maggie learned forward and stretched across the large floor pillow. “Sit, Helen. Give me your hand. I’ll tell you your future.”
Helen was feeling a little nervous. It wasn’t her first trip to Maggie’s apartment, but she felt as though that night’s visit was unlike any of her previous ones.
“Here, don’t be shy, little Helen. Come. Come.” Maggie’s voice was playful, and heavy with insinuation, almost sounding as if she was reciting lines from a play.
“Here’s my hand, but there’s no future there that you can find.” Helen attempted to sound sure. “I don’t believe in fortunetelling.”
“Ah, a nonbeliever.” Maggie pulled Helen down to the floor next to her with more force than was necessary. “Let’s see now. I see a great life.” She began way before she had completely seized Helen’s opened palm in her own.
“Right.” Helen snickered as Maggie smoothed the length of Helen’s arm with her free hand.
“Be still, little Helen, and concentrate, or I can’t read. Close your eyes and be serious.”
“Fine. I’ll focus.” Helen was certain this was one of Maggie’s jokes. She would end up with a theatrical moustache glued under her nose, or a silly wig propped on her head and a photograph taken, as was Maggie’s way of having fun.
“Shh.” Maggie hushed her by placing a finger over Helen’s mouth, silencing her in midsentence. “How do you expect me to show you what’s in store for you if you can’t keep your mouth shut?”
Helen felt what she assumed was Maggie’s hand on her mouth again. Yet the peculiar sensation rising in her sides told her differently. She kept her eyes shut until she was certain. The next touch was sure. Maggie had taken her mouth with her o
wn. Helen’s eyes fluttered open, but she did not pull away. Instead, she matched Maggie’s vim in the kiss, which was sweet and delicate, and a tentative exploration of “what if,” which developed rapidly into “what next?”
Helen felt a spring swell in her chest and tighten simultaneously below her belly button. Maggie did not speak, so Helen did not speak. Helen simply enjoyed the new sensations that lighted across every inch of her skin, until later, she lay panting and spent, with her satiated body tossed across several red pillows strewn over the floor of Maggie’s apartment. This was her first sexual exchange with Maggie, but it was not her last.
ELEVEN
HELEN MANAGED TO evade Richard most of the following day. First she busied herself with cleaning her kitchen and putting everything back in its proper place, and then by hibernating in her office under the guise of working on the outline for her next novel. She did try to write her new book, but most of the morning she wasted, settled, and mired deep in regret. For the most part, Richard left her to her own devices. Helen was thankful for that. She could hear him moving about the house, occupied with this chore or rattling about with that task, making his presence obvious, but clearly giving her a wide berth.
Sydney arrived around three in the afternoon, sans the girls. Helen, upon hearing her, rushed out excited to see her granddaughters who she hadn’t had an opportunity to say goodnight to the evening before. She thought she could use their presence to buy her a little more time away from Richard. She immediately realized when she met her husband and daughter near the entryway that she had been trapped by her own cunning.
“Mom, I’m happy you’ve come out. Dad was just telling me that he thought you might be working.” Sydney reached forward, taking her mother by the arm, and guided her toward the sitting room.
“Actually, I am. I was just hitting my stride when I thought I heard you come in. Where are the girls?” Helen feigned looking behind Sydney and around her sides, as if Erica and Sammie were somehow tucked out of sight in Sydney’s back pockets. With some effort, she peeled Sydney’s hand from her forearm. “Didn’t you bring them?” She was stalling, and simply trying to avoid the inevitable confrontation with her husband and daughter.
“Mom, come sit with us. Dad and I are just about to talk. Join us.”
Helen could see that there was no escaping the conversation and followed Sydney into the room with Richard following closely, as if to keep her from escaping.
“Sure, Sydney, what do you have in mind? By the way, you left your serving tray here, and your warming carrier. I’ll get them for you.” Helen made for the entrance, but before she made it to the door, Richard spoke.
“Helen, we’d like to talk to you about what’s going on with you.” Richard spoke slowly, as if he were trying to communicate with someone who spoke in a different language. As though they had not spent the last twenty-six years as husband and wife.
His voice was so full of emotion, she could scarcely handle the weight of it. Her own sins came to bare down on her with such force, that the meaning of his words was lost to her. She only found meaning in his voice, and she considered for a moment that he knew. Part of her wanted to say simply to him, “Richard, my life is not what I thought it might be,” or “Richard, forgive me the life we shared together.” However, all she could manage was, “What do you mean, ‘what’s up with me’?”
“Well, Mom, you’ve not been yourself lately.”
“No? Who have I been, then?” Outwardly, Helen was being flippant, but the statement, “not been yourself lately,” frightened her. What was the truth, really? Was it, as her daughter had stated, that she had somehow lost her way? That what she was experiencing, the person she was becoming, was a lie?
“Helen, for Heaven’s sake, tell us what’s going on. You stay away from home all day. You go out without even a hint of where you are going, or what you are doing.”
“And, Mom, you are emotionally unavailable.” Sydney looked cautiously sideways to her father. Both she and Richard exchanged uncomfortable expressions. Sydney continued. “Not only that, but you are different, Mom. You are, and we’re worried. Nothing you do makes sense anymore.” Sydney joined Helen on the sofa. Taking one of her hands in her own, she said, “Dad’s a wreck. He tells me neither of you are sleeping, and you aren’t progressing on your book. What’s wrong, Mom? Tell us. We’re here to help you.” Sydney looked from Helen to Richard, as if pleading with them both. Richard had been silenced momentarily by his discomfort.
Helen covered Sydney’s hand with her free one and offered as much truth as she could. “Sydney, I’m fine. I’m just going through a change in my life. I feel fine. I’m healthy. I don’t need help. What I need is time.”
“Time for what?” Richard demanded, cutting off her speech. “What the hell do you need time for? Look, I’ve given you space. I’ve left you alone, despite my instinct to do otherwise. Now I’m telling you, I’ve had enough of this idiocy. If you’re going through some change in life, get on with it, but let’s get on with our lives together. We have too much at stake. The ante’s too high, and we have too many years invested in each other for you to go off the deep end. I’ve suspected that you have been a little off ever since summer, maybe as far back as your birthday. You said you didn’t want a party, and I didn’t listen. So?”
Helen stiffened against his words.
Richard seemed to realize he might have gone too far, and tried a new approach. His face softened, and he attempted to appear more compassionate. “Hell, for all I know, this is some sort of midlife crisis. Shit, Helen, baby, get over it.”
“Dad.” Sydney warned.
“No.” Richard waved away her counsel. “I’ve tried walking on egg shells, wondering if this is the day she’ll crack. I’ve had enough, and I want my wife back now.”
Helen felt as though she were having an out-of-body experience. Richard was speaking to her as if she were one of his employees with whom he was dissatisfied. In all their years of marriage, he had never spoken to her in quite this manner. Sure, he had been angry with her—pissed off, in fact—but never had he taken this tone with her. She didn’t quite know how to react to him. An odd feeling came over her, as though she were watching the event unfold from above, and she hadn’t reacted because she couldn’t from her present floating position. She looked from Sydney to Richard, wondering how best she could get away from the scene.
Helen remained seated, thinking about her own culpability and contribution to this mess. No, she hadn’t been honest with him. Yes, she was hiding something from him, but she wasn’t about to be dictated to by him, and certainly she wasn’t going to be made to feel guilty or bullied into giving up a part of herself she had rediscovered after five decades of renunciation.
She had to admit that she was wrong for her cheating, but she had abandoned part of who she was for the sake of a dream. Her family. It hadn’t been their fault. They were, to a degree, being punished because of decisions she had made in the past and was currently making, but that was not her aim. She didn’t want them to suffer. She owed them the truth, but how could she offer truth when she didn’t understand it herself?
A range of emotions coursed through Helen including errant impulses to run. She had so much to regret, and equally so much to look forward to. Her husband and daughter represented precisely what she thought she wanted from life, a support system of people who loved and protected her. They also represented all that she stood to lose should she continue to explore impulses she could no longer deny, and secrets she could no longer keep from them—at least from Richard.
Helen decided to share with Richard everything she had been experiencing for the past few months.
“Sydney, will you excuse us? I need to speak to your father alone.”
“No, Mom.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve asked Sydney to stay while we talked, Helen.” Richard repositioned himself by Sydney’s side.
“Richard, I’d like to speak to you p
rivately.” Helen stood and took a small step toward them. “You’re right. We need to talk. I have changed. I am changing. I feel like I’ve finally discovered who I am.” Relief warmed her body with each spoken word as if she were doused in sunshine.
Richard’s expression hardened and Helen was sure he was preparing himself for the worst.
“Now, Syd, please give us a few minutes alone.” Helen wanted so badly to explain to Richard that after thirty years of being with him, she had discovered that she wanted something different. She wanted to explain that this didn’t change her love for him, only made her aware of how she had loved him.
“If you don’t mind, Helen, I’d like Sydney to remain,” he said.
“But, Richard, I do mind.” Helen took a few steps away from her husband. “Richard, let’s sit and talk, just the two of us. I’m sure if you just listened to me…” Helen was overwhelmed with conflicting feelings.
Richard had such a pained expression, that she couldn’t help but trail off. Her relationship with Noami threatened a life she had wished for all her life. “Mom, are you going through some sort of selfish, self-absorbed midlife crisis where only you matter?”
Helen ignored her daughter’s question, determined to talk through her experiences with only Richard. She was beginning to feel beleaguered by Sydney’s presence and Richard’s refusal to dismiss their daughter. She was feeling ganged up on, and claustrophobic. As she contemplated her next course of action, she believed for a fleeting moment that her relationship with Noami had been a huge mistake, an experiment of sorts, just as she had convinced herself that her intimacy with Maggie had been a puerile exploration of her sexual aptitude.
“Are you, Mom?” Sydney insisted once again for an answer.
“Sydney.” Helen pleaded. “Just give us a moment alone.” Helen’s gaze moved from one stony face to the next.
Richard remained where he stood when he entered the room. Unmoved. Silent. Safe.
Helen was frustrated and becoming defensive. A flood of understanding washed over her. When faced with a chance to confront their problems, Richard was ill-equipped or not interested enough to do the work—the real work. He didn’t want to know what was really wrong. He only wanted for it to be right, and back to the way he wanted things to be. Sydney wasn’t there to help him find the underlying cause of what was going on with her. Sydney was there to keep Helen from doing just what she thought she ought to. To tell Richard the truth, and possibly ending their fragile marriage.