by Joy Fielding
“Mom?” Mattie’s voice stopped her mother before she reached the hall.
“Yes, Martha?”
“Thank you,” Mattie told her. “It means a great deal to me, knowing I can count on you.”
Mattie watched her mother’s shoulders stiffen. Viv nodded without speaking, and left the room.
• • •
Mattie was upstairs resting, stretched out on top of her bed, when she heard the front door open and close, heard footsteps on the stairs, saw Kim in the doorway. Kim was wearing a zippered yellow sweatshirt over faded blue jeans, and as usual, the mere sight of her unspoiled beauty made Mattie’s heart sing. Sweet little Miss Grundy, Mattie thought. Does she have even the slightest idea how beautiful she is? “Hi,” Mattie said simply.
She’d been rehearsing this moment ever since Jake left her side to pick Kim up at school, adjusting, then readjusting her position on the bed, trying to find a suitable compromise between stiff-backed and casual, her voice seeking a balance between stern and loving, as she tried out numerous approaches for confronting her daughter, hearing all her efforts evaporate with the single word, “Hi.”
“How are you?” Kim’s voice trembled into the space between them. She tucked some imaginary stray hairs behind her ears, looked toward the floor.
“I’m okay. Lisa’s coming by tonight to check me over. What about you?”
Kim shrugged as Jake walked into the room. “I’m okay.”
Mattie patted the space beside her on the bed. “Why don’t you sit down?”
Kim looked from Mattie to her father, as if she weren’t sure for whom the invitation was intended, then looked back at Mattie, shook her head, her bottom lip quivering dangerously.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Mattie said softly.
“I screwed up,” Kim said defensively. “I invited a bunch of kids over. I thought I could control them, but—”
“I know what happened at the party,” Mattie interrupted. “I want to know what’s going on with you.”
“I don’t understand.” Kim looked imploringly toward her father.
“What are you feeling, Kimmy?” Jake asked.
Kim shrugged, laughed, a short brittle sound that threatened to break upon contact with the air. “You sound like my therapist.”
“Talk to us, sweetheart.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You went away. I threw a party. It was a mistake, and I’m sorry.”
“Were you angry because we went away?” Mattie asked.
“Angry? Of course not. Why would I be angry?”
“Because we didn’t take you with us.”
“That’s just silly. I’m not a baby.” Kim shifted her weight restlessly from one foot to the other. “Besides, how could I go with you? I have school, and anyway, this was your holiday. I understand that.”
“Understanding something doesn’t always make it easier to deal with,” Jake said.
“What are you saying? That you think I did this on purpose?”
“Nobody said you did anything on purpose,” Mattie said.
“Because I was angry at you for going away? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Were you?” Jake asked.
Kim’s eyes shot frantically around the room, as if she were looking for a way out. “No. Of course not.”
“You weren’t the least little bit angry at me for taking your mother away from you?”
“You’re her husband, aren’t you?”
“Not a very good one, as you’ve pointed out on more than one occasion.” Jake’s voice was steady, even gentle. “If there was any kind of a marriage here,” he conceded, “it was between you and your mother. God knows I was never around.” He paused, his eyes appealing to both mother and daughter for forgiveness. “For almost sixteen years, you had your mother all to yourself, Kimmy. And then suddenly, everything changed. Your mother got sick. I came back home. You felt increasingly left out. And then I whisk your mother off to Paris, leaving you at home.”
“So … what? I’m like the spurned wife? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I guess that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Jake agreed. “And you felt abandoned and betrayed and scared because you thought you were losing your mother. I’m the other woman, Kimmy,” he acknowledged with a sad smile. “And I don’t blame you one bit for being angry.”
Kim looked helplessly toward the window, her lips twisting frantically, as if she were literally trying to digest the things Jake was saying. “So, bottom line, what you’re saying is, I was angry at you for leaving me, for taking my mother away, and I invited a bunch of kids over, knowing they’d trash the house? Is that it?”
“Is it?”
“No! Yes! Maybe!” Kim shouted in almost the same breath. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” She started pacing, increasingly small circles between the bed and the window. “Maybe I was angry at you for going away and leaving me here alone. Maybe I did invite those kids over knowing something like this would probably happen. Maybe I really wanted it to happen. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I just know I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, baby,” Mattie said, aching to surround her daughter with comforting arms.
“I’ll get a job. I’ll pay for everything.”
“We’ll work something out later,” Jake said.
Kim’s shoulders began to shake, her face dissolving, like heated wax, around her open mouth. “I’ll go live with Grandma Viv. I know she’d let me stay with her.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Isn’t it what you want?”
“We want you to stay here.” Tears fell the length of Mattie’s cheeks.
“But why? I’m a horrible person. Why would you want anything to do with me?”
“You’re not a horrible person.”
“Look what I did!” Kim cried. “I let them wreck the house. I let them destroy all the things you love.”
“I love you,” Mattie said, once again patting the empty space beside her on the bed. “Please sit down, Kim. Please let me hold you.”
Slowly, Kim lowered herself to the bed, collapsed against her mother’s chest.
“You’re just a little girl who made a big mistake,” Mattie said, kissing Kim’s forehead, weak fingers pulling at the bobby pins in Kim’s hair, until it fell free and loose around her shoulders. “You’re my sweet baby. I love you so much.”
“I love you too. I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m so sorry.”
“I know, baby.”
“All your things—”
“That’s all they are. Things,” Mattie told her, as an unexpected smile reached her lips. “Elaborate pepper mills.”
“What?”
“Things can be replaced, Kimmy,” Jake said, joining them on the bed.
“What if they can’t?”
“They’re still just things,” he said.
“You don’t hate me?”
“How could we hate you?” Mattie asked.
“We love you,” Jake said, making a spot for himself on the bed. “Just because we’re not happy with what you did, that doesn’t mean we don’t love you, that we’d ever stop loving you.” Mattie watched him reach out, remove the several bobby pins still dangling from his daughter’s head, then smooth back her silky hair with his gentle hand.
In the next instant, Kim was crying in his arms. Jake held her for several minutes, then wordlessly, without disturbing his daughter, he reached out and touched Mattie’s fingers. The three of them sat this way, in their tight little circle, until it grew dark.
THIRTY-THREE
Mattie sat in her wheelchair on the balcony off the kitchen, watching her daughter swim. It was cool, cooler than normal for late September, and gusts of steam wafted up from the overheated pool. Mattie’s eyes followed the graceful arc of her daughter’s arms as they sliced through the water, her long, lithe body propelled by the steady kick of her feet, her dark blond hair stream
ing freely behind her head. Like a beautiful young mermaid, Mattie thought, imagining herself swimming by her daughter’s side. She shivered.
“Are you cold, Mrs. Hart?” a voice asked from somewhere behind her.
“A little,” Mattie managed to spit out with great effort. Immediately, Mattie felt a cashmere shawl wrap around her shoulders. “Thank you, Aurora,” she whispered, not sure whether the petite Mexican housekeeper Jake had hired at the beginning of the summer had heard. Her voice was so low these days, so quiet. Every word was a struggle. On everyone’s part. She struggled to speak, to keep from choking on her thoughts; those around her struggled to hear, to understand what she was trying to say.
“Come on in, George,” Kim called toward the frisky puppy who was running back and forth along the side of the pool as she swam. “The water’s really warm.”
George barked his refusal and bounded up the balcony steps, jumping into Mattie’s lap and licking her face. No trouble understanding what he had to say, Mattie thought, savoring the feel of his wet tongue on her lips, as Kim waved happily from the pool and returned to her swimming.
“No, no,” Aurora said, lifting the puppy from Mattie’s lap and depositing him on the cedar planks. “Mustn’t lick Mrs. Hart on the lips.”
“It’s okay, Aurora,” Mattie tried to say, but she coughed instead, the cough becoming a desperate gasp for air. In months gone by, Mattie’s hands would have shot from her side as she fought to get oxygen into her lungs, but now her skinny arms hung lifeless at her sides, gnarled fingers folded neatly in the middle of her lap. Only her head moved, bouncing violently on top of her shoulders with each strangled breath.
“It’s okay. You okay,” Aurora told her steadily, no longer panicking at such episodes, eyes locking on Mattie’s until the spasm was complete. “You okay,” she repeated, wiping the tears from Mattie’s eyes with a tissue, smoothing back Mattie’s hair, patting Mattie’s useless hands, hands that rested across equally useless legs. “You want something to drink? Some water or juice?”
“Water,” Mattie said, hearing only the first syllable clearly, the second syllable disappearing, like steam from the pool, into the cool air.
As soon as Aurora retreated to the kitchen, George jumped back into Mattie’s lap, licking her twice across the lips before his tongue disappeared eagerly inside her left nostril. Mattie laughed, and the puppy settled comfortably into her lap, warming her cold hands with his furry little body, so that she felt as if she were wearing fleece-lined mittens. What was the old saying? Happiness is a warm puppy? They certainly got that one right, Mattie marveled, watching the puppy as he closed his eyes in instant sleep. All she had to do was provide a comfortable spot for him to curl up in, and he loved her. Unconditionally.
And she loved him, she realized with no small degree of amazement. After all these years of refusing even to consider allowing a dog into the house, she was totally smitten, completely head-over-heels in love. Sweet baby, she thought, aching to pet him.
“Oh no, off you go,” Aurora said, shooing George from Mattie’s lap before Mattie could protest. Aurora lifted the glass of water to Mattie’s lips. Mattie took a slight sip, felt it trickle uneasily down her throat. “Have some more,” Aurora instructed.
Mattie shook her head, although she was still thirsty. But the more she drank, the more she peed, and Mattie had learned to dread the prospect of nature’s call. Of the many things she hated about this disease, the thing Mattie hated most was the way it gradually robbed you of everything you once took for granted—your mobility, your freedom, your privacy, and ultimately, most cruelly, your dignity. She could no longer even go to the bathroom by herself. She needed someone to take her there, to lift her out of her wheelchair and adjust her clothing, to sit her down on the toilet, to wipe her when she was through. Aurora was a godsend. She did all these things without complaint. As did Kim, and Jake, after Aurora left for the day. But Mattie didn’t want her daughter playing nurse or her husband wiping her backside. “You have to eat and drink,” everyone kept telling her. “You have to keep up your strength.” But Mattie was tired of being strong. What was the point in being strong when you still had to be fed and carried and have your bottom wiped? She was weary of this forced infantilization. It could drag on for years, and it was not the way she wanted to be remembered. She’d had enough. She wanted to die with at least a semblance of dignity.
It was time.
“Brrr,” Kim squealed, stepping out of the pool and wrapping herself in several layers of large magenta towels. “It’s so cold once you get out.” George was instantly at her feet, eagerly licking the water from between Kim’s toes. “So, what do you think?” Kim asked, running up the steps, George at her heels. “Fifty lengths. Pretty good, huh?”
“Don’t overdo,” Mattie said slowly, quietly.
“I won’t. If I start getting obsessive again, I’ll stop. I promise.”
Mattie smiled. The days of punishing two hour workouts and monitoring everything she ate were mercifully over. Kim was in a new school and off to a promising start. She continued to see Rosemary Colicos once a week, as did Jake. Sometimes they went together. Kim and her father were getting closer every day.
It was time.
“What time’s the ball game?” Mattie asked as Kim strained forward to hear her.
“I think Dad said seven o’clock.” She checked her watch. “I guess I should start getting ready. It’s almost five o’clock now. I want to wash my hair before we leave.”
Mattie nodded. “You go. Get ready.”
Kim leaned over, kissed her mother’s bony cheek. Mattie felt the softness of her daughter’s cold cheek against her own.
“You know how much I love you, don’t you?” Mattie asked.
“I love you too,” Kim said, scooping up George and running inside before Mattie could say anything more.
“We go inside too,” Aurora said, spinning Mattie’s wheelchair around and pushing it into the kitchen.
What if I don’t want to go inside? Mattie wondered, understanding it was useless to protest. Her decision-making powers had been usurped, the latest in a gradual eroding of her basic rights. What good were choices when one had no power to act on them? Mattie didn’t blame Aurora. She didn’t blame anyone. She was no longer surprised by the well-meaning insensitivity of others. She was no longer angry. What good did it do to be angry?
What was happening to her was nobody’s fault, not her mother’s, not her own, not God’s. If there was a God, Mattie decided, He hadn’t wished this condition on her. Nor could He do anything to alleviate it. After months of watching helplessly as her body steadily dropped pounds and collapsed in on itself, of feeling her flesh grow slack and her features stretch and distort as if she were trapped inside a funhouse mirror, she had finally surrendered to what Thomas Hardy once described as “the benign indifference of the universe.” Was it Hardy or Camus? Mattie wondered now, too tired to remember.
She was so tired.
It was time.
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times, Mattie recited silently. Charles Dickens. No doubt about that.
The worst year of her life.
The best year of her life.
The last year of her life.
It was time.
“Hi, sweetheart, how’re you doing?” Jake entered the kitchen from the hall as Aurora was locking the sliding glass door.
Mattie smiled, as she always did when she looked at her husband. He’d lost a few pounds these last months, and his hair had acquired a few streaks of gray, the byproducts of her insidious disease, but he still managed to look as handsome as ever, if possible even more distinguished. He claimed the weight loss and gray hairs were the price he paid for going back to work. Not that he’d returned to Richardson, Buckley and Lang, but over the summer he’d been asked to consult on a number of difficult cases, and he’d been contacted by several other renegade young lawyers who were thinking of opening their own firm sometime afte
r the first of the year. Not interested, Jake told them, claiming he was satisfied working out of his office at home. But Mattie couldn’t help but notice the fire in his eyes whenever he spoke to them, and she knew he missed the excitement of daily hand-to-hand combat. How long could she continue to hold him back? What more could he do for her than he’d already done? She couldn’t even touch him anymore, she thought, as Jake lowered his lips to hers.
It was time.
Everything was falling into place. The private detective Jake had hired to find his brother had turned up several promising leads. Apparently there were three Nicholas Harts who were the right age and fit Nick’s general description—one in Florida, one in Wisconsin, one in Hawaii. It was possible one of these men could be Jake’s brother, and even if they weren’t, at least the first steps had been taken. It wasn’t necessary for Mattie to stay and watch Jake cross the finish line. He’d already won, she thought, relishing the feel of his lips as they lingered gently on hers.
“There’s a new photography exhibit starting at Pende Fine Arts next week,” Jake told her, lowering himself into the kitchen chair so that he could be at Mattie’s eye level. “I thought maybe we could go next Saturday, take Kim with us.”
Mattie nodded. Jake had replaced the Raphael Goldchain photograph that had been destroyed, and Kim was paying him back ten dollars a week out of her allowance. As a result, she’d begun to take an almost proprietary air toward the picture, and had started to develop a genuine interest in photography.
“I was thinking we might buy Kim a new camera,” Jake was saying, as if reading Mattie’s thoughts. “The one she’s got now is pretty basic.”
Again Mattie nodded.
“Oh, dear, we’re almost out of milk,” Aurora announced, removing the container from the refrigerator and shaking it.
“I’ll pick some up later,” Jake offered.
“And some apple juice,” Aurora added.
“I’ll pick them up after the ball game.”
He did so much, Mattie thought. He’d given up so much. Honey. His career. The last year of his life. All for her. She couldn’t ask him to give up any more.