by Joy Fielding
“What’s that?”
“An electromyogram tests the electrical activity of muscles,” Lisa began, “and, unfortunately, to do that, they have to insert needle electrodes directly into the muscles, which can be a bit unpleasant.”
“A bit unpleasant?”
“There’s a crackling sound when the needles are inserted into the muscles, sort of like popcorn popping,” Lisa explained. “It can be somewhat disconcerting.”
“Oh, really? You think?” Mattie asked, not even trying to disguise her sarcasm.
“I think you can handle it,” Lisa told her.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“I think you should think about it.”
Mattie rubbed the bridge at the top of her nose, trying to keep the headache that was building behind her eyes at bay. She was liking this conversation even less than the earlier one with Jake. Increasingly, she was wishing she was back on the outside steps of the Art Institute with Roy Crawford and his big lecherous head. “What’s going on here, Lisa? What horrible disease do you think I have?”
“I don’t know that you have anything,” Lisa said, her voice even, giving nothing away. “I’m just being extra cautious because you’re my friend.”
“You’re just being cautious,” Mattie repeated.
“I want to eliminate some possible muscular disorders. Let me try to get something set up for next week, okay?”
Mattie felt a giant wave of fatigue wash across her body. She didn’t want to argue. Not with her husband. Not with her best friend. She just wanted to crawl into bed and get this horrible day over with. “How long does this test take?”
“About an hour. Sometimes longer.”
“How much longer?” Mattie asked.
“It can take two, occasionally even three hours.”
“Two or three hours?! You want me to sit there and let some sadist stick needle electrodes into my muscles for two or three hours?”
“It usually only takes an hour,” Lisa said again, trying to sound reassuring, failing miserably.
“This is some sort of sick joke, right?”
“It’s no joke, Mattie. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t feel it was important.”
“I’ll think about it,” Mattie said, after a long pause in which she purposefully thought of nothing at all.
“Promise?”
“I’m not a child, Lisa. I said I’d think about it. That’s exactly what I’ll do.”
“I’ve upset you,” Lisa said softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do that.”
Mattie nodded, feeling as helpless as she had in the seconds prior to her accident, as if she were still trapped inside the speeding car and unable to find the brakes. There was no way to stop; there was no slowing down. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, she was going to crash and burn.
Light my fire. Light my fire. Light my fire.
“Do you want me to talk to Jake?” Lisa was asking.
“I definitely don’t want you to talk to Jake,” Mattie said sharply, fresh anger propelling her words. “Why would you talk to Jake?”
“Just to keep him in the loop.”
“He opted out of the loop, remember?”
“The bastard,” Lisa snarled.
“No,” Mattie protested, then, “Well, yes.” She laughed, was grateful when Lisa laughed with her. If Lisa was laughing, then things weren’t as bad as her manner suggested. There was nothing seriously wrong with her. She wouldn’t have to have this horribly invasive test where they stuck needles directly into her muscles and the muscles made crackling noises, like popcorn popping, and even if she did, the test would show nothing, just like the MRI.
“I have an idea,” Lisa announced. “What do you say I sleep over here tonight?”
“What? That’s a lousy idea.”
“Come on. Fred can manage the boys for one night. It’ll be like the pajama parties we had when we were teenagers. We can order pizza, watch TV, do each other’s hair. It’ll be great.”
Mattie smiled at her friend’s generosity. “I’m fine, Lisa. Really. I don’t need you to spend the night. But thanks. I appreciate the offer.”
“I just don’t like the idea of you being alone on your first night back from the hospital, that’s all.”
“What if I want to be alone?”
“Do you?”
Mattie gave the question a moment’s serious thought. “Yes,” she said, finally, her entire body groaning with fatigue. “Yes, I really do.”
The house had never felt so large, so empty, so quiet.
After Lisa’s departure, Mattie walked from room to room as if in a trance, stroking the pale yellow walls, admiring the decor as if seeing everything for the first time. Over here, we have the dining room, big enough to seat twelve people comfortably for dinner, something every newly single woman desperately needs. And over here, the spacious living room, complete with oversize sofa in soft beige Ultrasuede, perfect for the hardworking man of the house, except, of course, that the man of the house was no longer in the house.
Where are you, Jake Hart? Mattie wondered, knowing the answer, knowing he was with her, his new love, in her apartment, or maybe even in a romantic room at the Ritz-Carlton, that they were celebrating his newfound freedom by making love and drinking champagne and having a high old time, while Mattie got to wander aimlessly around a big empty house in the suburbs, worrying about some stupid test that was going to make her muscles go pop.
Mattie circled the large center hallway once, then again, this time making the circle smaller, and then again smaller still. Narrowing my horizons, she thought, tripping over her feet, wondering whether she’d get to stay in the house or whether her horizons would shrink to the size of a small, two-bedroom apartment.
Rotating her tingling foot, she hopped toward the stairs, located just to the right of Jake’s office, and lowered herself onto the bottom step, massaging her foot until the tingling stopped. “Bad circulation, that’s all it is. Runs in the family.” Did it? She stared toward the kitchen, wondering what to do next. “I can do anything I want,” she announced to the empty house. I can buy myself a new gas oven. I can watch TV till three in the morning. I can talk on the phone all night. I can read the newspaper and leave it lying all over the white broadloom in the master bedroom, now that the master is no longer in residence. “I can even watch TV while reading the newspaper and talking on the phone,” she continued out loud, laughing. “And nobody can stop me. Nobody can shake his head in disapproval. Nobody can judge me and find me wanting.”
Wanting, Mattie repeated silently. What exactly did she want?
What did she want to do with her life, now that Jake was no longer a part of it?
She’d known of his plans the second she opened the bedroom closet and found most of his clothes gone. Still, she dismissed the evidence of her own eyes, as she’d been dismissing such evidence for years, her mind scrambling for other explanations—he’d sent everything to the cleaners; he’d decided to splurge on a whole new wardrobe; he’d moved his things into the guest bedroom to give her more space while she recuperated. The list of improbable excuses had followed her down the stairs and into Jake’s office, where he sat waiting for her. “What’s going on, Jake?” she’d asked from the doorway. “Where are all your things?”
“I think it’s best if I move out,” he’d told her. Plain. Simple. Right to the point.
And then the unnecessary embellishments—it was nobody’s fault; it wasn’t about blame; he was sorry; he hoped they could still be friends.
Mattie reached for the wooden banister and hoisted herself into a standing position, gingerly placing one foot in front of the other as she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. Maybe she’d redecorate the house again, she thought, reaching the large upstairs hall that mirrored the one directly below. Paint the walls a deep orange, Jake’s least favorite color. Replace all the masculine leathers with more feminine floral chintz. Throw out the neat white shutters on the win
dows and bring in yards and yards of frilly lace, even though she hated chintz and lace. That wasn’t the point. The point was that Jake hated them, and the house was now hers to do with as she pleased. No one could tell her what to do or how to do it. Certainly not Jake. No second opinions required. She didn’t have to consult or compromise.
At least not yet. Not until Jake came back at her with his list of demands. She’d see where all this lovely talk of friendship went when they started trying to hammer out a settlement. She thought of her friend Terry, of the hell her ex-husband put her through, refusing to leave the house until she agreed to forfeit her right to a share of his pension, nickel-and-diming her to death, forever late in his child support payments. Would it be that way for her once Jake’s guilty conscience eased?
Mattie made a decent living as an art dealer, was used to paying her own way, had even managed to put some money aside. She’d always hoped to use that money so that she and Jake could take a belated honeymoon trip to Paris, but it didn’t look like she’d be honeymooning anytime soon. How far would that money take her? she wondered now. How long would it last? Money had never been an issue in her marriage to Jake. Would all that change when he was made a partner? Would he want to keep everything for his new woman, his new life?
Mattie marched into her bedroom and flipped on the TV, listening as the sound of rapid gunfire filled the air, obliterating such unpleasant thoughts. She looked toward her king-size bed, the powder blue duvet still twisted and disheveled from her earlier nap, as if there were still someone lying beneath it. “I can sleep on whatever side of the bed I want,” she said, deliberately bouncing down on Jake’s side, cognizant of his smell clinging stubbornly to his pillow, tossing the pillow to the floor, then stepping on it as she climbed out of bed. “I can close the damn window.” Over fifteen years of freezing to death every night because Jake insisted on sleeping with the window open. She marched to the window and slammed it down with authority.
Mattie located the television’s remote control unit on the overstuffed blue corduroy chair at the side of the bed. “All mine,” she cackled, pressing her thumb to the appropriate button, watching as channel after channel flipped into view, disappearing before anything had time to register on her brain. She dropped the remote and headed for the bathroom, pulling off her jeans and baggy sweatshirt, confronting herself in the wall of mirrors surrounding the white porcelain sink. The first thing I’m going to do, she decided, is get rid of all these mirrors.
She stripped off her bra and panties, stared with dismay at her bruised and naked body. “Oh, yes, they’ll be lined up around the block.” She began pouring water for a bath. “I’m going to use up all the hot water,” she announced loudly, the sound of her voice bouncing off the almond-colored marble tiles covering the walls, echoing loudly in her ears. I’m going to use up all the hot water and then I’m going to check myself into a loony bin, she thought, the by-now familiar tingling returning to the bottom of her right foot.
Mattie limped toward the toilet, lowered the seat, sat down, massaged her foot. But this time the tingling didn’t stop, even after several minutes, and she was forced to crawl across the cold floor to turn off the water pouring into the tub before it overflowed. She caught sight of herself, down on her hands and knees, in a small sliver of mirror not hidden by steam, and turned away, feeling suddenly queasy. “Bad circulation, that’s all it is,” she said, lowering herself carefully into the hot water, watching her skin flush red. Red and purple and yellow and brown, Mattie thought, counting the colors, her body a canvas. She closed her eyes, rested her head against the back of the tub, the water lapping at the scratches on her chin, the way she remembered her mother’s dogs licking at her mother’s face.
It was strange in the house without Jake.
Not that she wasn’t used to his absence. Jake worked impossible hours, was never really here even when he was sitting right beside her. Occasionally he’d gone away on business, and she’d spent the night alone in their bed. But this was different. This time, he wasn’t coming back.
When he’d first announced he was leaving, Mattie felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach by an invisible fist. It had taken all her strength, all her resolve, not to cave forward or cry out. Why? Wasn’t it a relief to finally have everything out in the open, not to spend every day waiting for the ax to fall? Yes, she’d be lonely. But the last fifteen years had taught her that there was nothing lonelier than an unhappy marriage.
The phone rang.
Mattie debated whether or not to answer it, finally giving in, grabbing a towel, and limping toward the phone, located on Jake’s side of the bed. Maybe it was Lisa, calling again to check on how she was doing. Or Kim. Or Jake, she thought, lifting the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Martha?” The word hacked at the air, like a knife-wielding assailant.
Mattie sank down onto the bed, wounded before the conversation had even begun. “Mother,” she said, afraid to say more.
“I won’t take up much of your time,” her mother began. Mattie quickly translated this to mean that her mother didn’t want to spend long on the phone. “I’m just calling to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing fine, thank you,” Mattie said over the sound of dogs barking in the background. “And you?”
“Well, you know, getting older is no picnic.”
You’re barely sixty, Mattie thought, but didn’t say. What was the point?
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to the hospital to see you. You know how I am about hospitals.”
“No apologies necessary.”
“Jake says you’re still pretty banged up.”
“When did you talk to Jake?” Mattie asked.
“He came by to take Kim out for dinner.”
“He did?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Like what?”
“How’s Kim?” Mattie asked, changing the subject.
“She’s a lovely girl,” her mother said, with the kind of emotion she usually reserved for her dogs. “She was a big help to me when Lucy was having her litter.”
Mattie almost laughed. Of course there’d be a connection, she thought, rotating her right foot, the stubborn tingle refusing to go away. “Listen, Mom, you caught me in the tub. I’m standing here, dripping wet.”
“Well, then, you’d better go.” Mattie heard the relief in her mother’s voice. “I just called to see how you were.”
I was fine, Mattie thought. “I’ll be fine,” was what she said. “Good-bye, Mother. Thanks for calling.”
“Good-bye, Martha.”
Mattie hung up the phone and transferred all her weight to her errant right foot, sighing with relief at the feel of the carpet beneath her toes. “I’ll be fine,” she repeated, returning to the bathroom, climbing back into the tub, the water not as hot or soothing as before. “I’ll be fine.”
NINE
Are you all right?” Kim cleared her throat in a vain effort to stop her voice from quavering. Why was she asking that? Wasn’t the answer obvious? Never before had she seen her mother so obviously not all right. Her skin was almost transparent beneath its palette of fading bruises. Her normally vibrant blue eyes were coated with a dull glaze of fear and pain. The ghost of former tears had left wiggly streaks through the makeup she’d so carefully applied only hours earlier. Her hands were shaking, her steps small and unsure. Kim had never seen her mother looking so helpless. It took all her strength to keep from bursting into tears. “Mom, are you okay?”
Say yes, say yes, say yes.
“Your mother needs to rest for a few minutes,” Kim heard someone say. Only then did she notice the burly-looking woman at her mother’s elbow. Did she have to look so healthy? Kim wondered angrily, interpreting the woman’s shiny olive skin and flashing dark eyes as something of a rebuke, as if, by being in such obvious good health, she was somehow robbing her mother of hers.
“Who are you?”
Kim asked.
“Rosie Mendoza,” the woman answered, tapping the hospital identity tag hanging around her neck and leading Mattie to a chair, one of approximately a dozen that lined the wall of the fourth-floor hospital corridor. “Dr. Vance’s assistant.”
“Is my mother okay?”
“I’m fine, sweetie,” Mattie whispered, although she didn’t sound fine. She sounded weak and scared and in a great deal of pain. “I just need to sit down for a few minutes.”
“She needs to go home and crawl into bed,” Rosie Mendoza advised.
“But then she’ll be fine, right?” Kim lowered herself into the seat next to Mattie’s, clutching her mother’s hand.
“The doctor should have the test results in a day or two,” Rosie Mendoza said. “He’ll get in touch with Dr. Katzman as soon as he has anything.”
“Thank you,” Mattie said, eyes on the short brown boots peeking out from underneath her brown slacks, her body motionless.
“Did it hurt?” Kim asked her mother after Rosie Mendoza’s departure.
Say no, say no, say no.
“Yes,” Mattie answered. “It hurt like hell.”
“Where did they put the needles?”
Don’t tell me.
Mattie pointed gingerly to her shoulders and thighs, opened her hands, palms up. Only then did Kim notice the fresh Band-Aid stretched across the inside of her mother’s left hand. “How many?”
“Too many.”
“Does it still hurt?”
Say no, say no, say no.
“Not too much,” Mattie said, although Kim could see she was lying.
Why was she asking her mother these questions when she didn’t want to know the answers? Wasn’t it enough to know that her mother had spent the last hour and a half undergoing some unpleasant and, her mother had assured her, completely unnecessary test, designed to show the pattern of nerve activity in her body, a test she’d only agreed to in order to get Lisa Katzman off her back? Kim felt a surge of anger charge through her body. Why had her mother’s closest friend put her through something so awful if it was so unnecessary?