During the time they’d lived together, Georgia continually complained to her friends that her husband didn’t try to converse with her. It was what she had chosen to focus on, and now she was ashamed of herself. She thanked God no one had been able to read her mind. Many times, she had fantasized about starting her life over again alone. Given her upbringing, she couldn’t even contemplate divorce, and so, in her fantasy, she was set free by Jack’s untimely death. Her daydreams had her friends gathered around her as she inherited money from a life insurance policy. With the total support of her community, and after an appropriate period of grieving, she took a trip around the world, to all the places her husband had refused to go to when he was alive.
Now that Jack was actually dead, she suffered guilt so keen it bordered on fixation. Although she knew she hadn’t actually killed him, she worried she had somehow psychically paved the way. God heard me every time I did it. I pretended he was dead so I could imagine meeting a retired English professor on Bali. What if God thought by striking Jack down, He was answering my prayers?
Georgia was sick with regret. What a fool I have been! I would give anything for one more minute with him. He was my entire life, and now that life is over.
Over cupcakes in a downtown coffee shop, Georgia tried to talk to Linda about it, but her friend became exasperated. “It’s a tragedy what happened to Jack, but your whole life is still ahead of you. Nothing is over. Look at you: your hair is still a glorious tawny color, you have a great figure, and those twinkling golden cat eyes. You have the vitality of someone half your age. Men still check you out, in case you haven’t noticed. You are barely middle-aged.”
“Linda, I am not middle-aged because I am not going to live to be a hundred and sixteen. When did old become a dirty word? I am old and guess what? You are older than I am. The truth is, I’m fine with aging, it’s the being alone part I find horrible.”
“Science is making advances all the time. Maybe we’ll live well into our hundreds. You don’t know, and who says that you have to be alone? When you have healed a bit more, the right person will come along.”
“You drive me crazy with the denial. We’re not youthful anymore. Remember when our kids were young and they would refer to profanity as the f-word and the sh-word. Instead of saying old, I am going to start saying ‘the o-word.’ Perhaps that will take the power out of it for you. Nobody promised us we were going to stay dewy and blooming forever. It’s time to get over our preoccupation with age. I would much rather be the woman I am today than the girl I was forty years ago. Even twenty years ago.”
“I thought you said your life was over.”
“It is over, but at least I am comfortable in my own skin.”
“According to you, a very wrinkled parchment-like skin; the skin of a crone.” Linda’s eyes twinkled with challenge. She stuck her tongue out at Georgia, then dragged it to the side and crossed her eyes with a goofy smile on her face. Georgia held her cupcake by the paper liner between her thumb and forefinger and pushed the top pile of icing into Linda’s nose while her eyes were still crossed. Linda screeched with surprise and delight.
“Oh, oh, oh! Har, har, harrrr!” she bleated. She had the most unusual and contagious laugh Georgia had ever heard, and she had done far more outrageous things to get Linda going. Georgia’s laughter in response erupted so quickly she had to lay her head down on the table and her crossed arms. She felt helpless and giddy as she convulsed. The teenage boy behind the counter shot the pair a warning look, which made Linda guffaw even louder.
“Oh, sure, he’s the ‘hilarious’ watchdog. What is he going to do? Call the cops? ‘Yes, officer, there are two old women here laughing too hard.’”
“I thought you hated the o-word.”
“F-word you!” Linda shot back, and with that, she scooped her vanilla icing off the top of her cupcake and wiped it down the length of Georgia’s long braid that hung over her left shoulder. Though Georgia remained bent over heaving with laughter, she knew they were behaving badly, and she felt sorry for the boy who was just trying to do his job. Georgia stood up, grabbed a fistful of napkins, handed a ten-dollar tip to the teenager, and held the door open for Linda to exit. Covered with frosting, they linked arms and ran down the street before anyone could question them about their food fight.
Four
“It’s discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit.”
—Noël Coward
Kenny was furious with his stepdaughter. Zelda had been a difficult child, a surly teenager, and an impulsive young adult. When his wife passed away, Zelda’s lack of impulse control swelled dangerously into self-destruction. He understood how bad things were when one night, five years earlier, he got a phone call at four in the morning.
“Mr. Simmons? I’m calling from Westington County Hospital. Sir, your daughter has been in a car accident. She’s going to be all right, but we have had to restrain her. She says she took the drug Molly—that’s Ecstasy—but we think she actually ingested something else.”
“What do you think it was?”
“The kids buy cheap drugs. It’s probably some generic version of a designer drug. We think it was bath salts, which is very bad news. She’s in a state we call ‘excited delirium,’ meaning she’s acting psychotic. Hallucinating. There were eight kids brought in together and they’re all in the same condition. They were in two cars racing down Main Street in DeGranit.”
He closed his eyes in silent prayer. “Who was driving?” Kenny’s voice croaked on the last word.
“Your daughter was in the passenger seat. Mr. Simmons, you should know the boy who was the driver was badly hurt and is going to have to have an amputation.”
Kenny let out an exhalation of air so long he only then discovered he had been holding his breath.
He flew to the hospital in a panic. When he was finally allowed to see Zelda, he was appalled to find her covered with abrasions, the white part of her right eye blood red and swollen.
“I insist an ophthalmologist be brought in immediately,” he said firmly.
The ER physician said, “We can set you up with an appointment later in the week. There’s no reason it has to be done right now. She is still agitated, and we have seven other teenaged patients to take care of. They are in far worse shape than she is.”
“Then you better call your security, Doc, because I’m not leaving this hospital until an eye specialist sees my daughter. If you don’t listen to me, I will make sure everyone in the building hears me.”
“Dad,” Zelda protested weakly from her hospital bed. Despite the fact that she was drugged half out of her mind, her stepfather still managed to embarrass her, but even in her delirium, she knew better than to argue with Kenny when he dug in his heels.
By the time the ophthalmologist showed up, Zelda was coming down off her extreme high. He examined her eye and put a treatment plan in place. The doctors decided to hold her for a few more hours to observe her condition, and Zelda fell asleep.
Unsure what to do with himself, Kenny decided to take a walk. He went to the payment office where they were starting their workday. “My stepdaughter is about to be discharged from the hospital. Her health insurance won’t cover everything. I’d like to write you a check for the out-of-pocket charges.” He laid his photo identification on the gray Formica counter in front of the female clerk.
She was startled, but picked up his license and read his name, “Mr. Simmons? How old is your stepdaughter?”
“She’s eighteen.”
“Oh, then she is the one who is responsible for the bills. They will be sent to her.”
He was frustrated that the woman didn’t understand him. “She can’t pay them. Zelda doesn’t have any money.”
“We can set her up with a payment plan.”
Kenny tried using his most reasonable tone of voice when he said, “I’ll pay the full amount now.”
It was her turn to be frustrated. “It doesn’t w
ork that way. We wait for the insurance companies to weigh in . . . and then, to be honest, most people negotiate the cost of the expenses.”
“I’m not buying a used car. I assume you people know what you are doing and how much to charge for it.”
“It’s complicated, depending on your coverage and the provider. I recommend you wait until the bill is generated. Then, call and talk to the head of our department.”
Kenny was already in a rattled state and was further shaken by this disclosure. He and his wife had had health insurance when she got sick, but he never questioned anyone when the medical bills came. He’d always paid them all in full. But he felt drawn to get back to his stepdaughter and didn’t feel he had the time to debate this matter further. He thanked the woman and went back to Zelda’s hospital room.
For the next five years, Zelda remained in and out of serious trouble, rehabilitation facilities, Alcoholics Anonymous, and Narcotics Anonymous. She bounced between their home in the country, couches of fellow addicts in the city of DeGranit, and wherever her newest boyfriend lived. During her most recent stretch of sobriety, she had met a young man at a meeting named Larry, and they’d started dating.
Kenny objected. “I thought the twelve-step rules said you had to wait a year to date.”
“There are no rules, Dad. There are only suggestions.”
He knew from experience that the more he talked with her about his concerns, the more unruly she would become. It was even possible that she would be determined that Larry was “Mr. Right.”
One day, when Kenny drove over to Montpelier to take Zelda out to lunch, he saw her and Larry standing on a curb together. She kissed the man goodbye and started running toward Kenny’s car with a blissful expression on her face. Larry’s appearance irked Kenny. He was exactly Zelda’s type, his shirt thrown over his right shoulder, naked from the waist up and covered with tattoos and body piercings. Both of his upper arms appeared to have intricate short sleeves drawn on them, and a blue and black winged pattern snaked across his back. Very classy, Kenny thought as he shuddered.
When he learned Larry had joined the service and would soon be leaving for boot camp, Kenny was relieved. Relieved, that was, until Zelda announced she was pregnant. He went into a panic. What a mess! I wish her mother were here to talk it over. I have no idea how to handle this.
Zelda was thrilled by the news that she was expecting; she had complete faith in Larry and their new love. She was quite sure once Larry got used to the idea, he would make a great father. She was naïve about how the baby would change her life and about parenting in general.
“When the baby’s born, I can take it with me to work. There’s room in the back office of the shop to put a crib or play-pen. Is that what you call it? A playpen? I have a girlfriend who knows all about social services. In Vermont, they even help you pay for daycare.”
Kenny fumed. Zelda had moved in and out of his house because he would not enable her addictions. She had not been able to maintain an apartment or keep a job for long, although she had been working at the jewelry shop for five months now. He thought about the future costs for the baby’s cavities and music lessons, saving for college, and ski equipment.
What is the point of living in Vermont if a kid can’t ski?
“Do you even know how much a child needs for lunch money and field trips?” he asked.
“Oh, they have free and reduced lunch programs.”
“Yeah, and then the other kids will tease him. Or her.”
“I don’t think so.”
Kenny felt like Zelda was walking off a cliff, and there was no way he could save her. Her delusion about a happy family ended abruptly when she got a text message from Larry that read, “If you want to ruin your life and have the baby, that is your problem. I don’t want anything to do with either of you.”
Eventually, Zelda confided in Kenny. She handed her phone to him and let him read the message. She was quiet and appeared numb. Bruise-colored smudges shadowed her tear-filled eyes.
Kenny sent out a silent prayer: Please give her the strength to handle it. Please. He arranged for Zelda to leave the halfway house she had been living in because she wanted to move back home. He wasn’t thrilled about the situation and extra responsibility but recognized that things could get much worse if she started using again.
These were supposed to be his golden years. He hadn’t planned on raising another child. He worried about it so much he started to get a fluttering feeling in his chest. It happened often enough that he broke down and made an appointment to see Dr. Gluck.
“Well, your blood pressure is a bit high. What’s going on with you?” The doctor leaned forward in his chair as Kenny talked about his stepdaughter. Dr. Gluck was a great listener. He nodded when Kenny spoke and made sympathetic eye contact. He had learned early in his career that judgment wasn’t helpful in medicine. Given the right conditions, all human beings were capable of a wide array of behaviors. He often said, “Extraordinary circumstances require extraordinary solutions.”
“Kenny, I want you to start walking every day. At least three miles.”
“Three miles? I’m sixty-two years old.”
“Three miles. At least. Get some rain gear for inclement weather and some good walking shoes. You’ll probably have to pay close to a hundred dollars for them. Walk every day. You can take Sunday off. I want to see you again in two months.”
“Well. Okay. I guess I can use some exercise, but I don’t even know where to go.”
“Pick a dirt road and start walking, Kenny. Fresh air and the sounds of nature will do you nothing but good.”
“Shouldn’t I ease into this, Frank? I’ve never been very active. What happens if I’m out on some country road and I start having the heart palpitations? Isn’t that dangerous?”
“No one ever died from a good stretch of the legs, Kenny. I’ll tell you what, if it makes you feel more comfortable, walk along Route 200. There are always people passing by, and most of them know who you are. Your neighbors will stop if you flag them down.”
“All right, if you say so. Wish me luck.”
Five
“Come my friends, ‘tis not too late to seek a newer world.”
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Yvonne’s son was eating a sandwich at her kitchen table. “Does it have enough mustard on it, honey?”
“Mom, when you were gone all winter, I was perfectly capable of making my own lunch.”
“I know you’re a grown man now, Spencer, but I like to spoil you. Don’t feel special. I like to spoil everyone.”
She loved her child to pieces, but she still had a hard time looking directly at him. His face had been damaged in a car accident, and he had been left with a ragged scar that ran from the right corner of his mouth to the top of his right ear. The hair above the ear looked mangy and rough because the scalp hadn’t healed right. He also had an empty shirtsleeve because he had lost his left arm in that same accident, when he was seventeen, on the night that he got drunk and high and took a girl out for a joy ride. Apparently, they were racing another car down the busiest road in DeGranit and ran right through the traffic light. Yvonne’s only solace was that no one was killed. Although she forgave her son’s mistake because he had been so young when it happened, she couldn’t tolerate the change in his appearance. Her perfect baby had been mutilated. Defaced. The saddest part was he had done it to himself.
Spencer had been a beautiful child. He had her bright green eyes, but he was as blond as she was dark haired. His high coloring turned the flush of his cheeks into a shade of magenta when it was cold outside. As a boy he had laughed easily and often, even when he was a tiny baby. Because his expression was open and his features perfect, people fawned over him.
“Look at that child! Why, he should be in television commercials. He is gorgeous, oh, and look at the way he laughs. Yes, you are a living doll, you are gorgeous you. Ha! He’s covering his face and playing peek-a-boo. You are one lucky mom.”
Yvonne knew that she was lucky. No one had to tell her that.
As he grew up, he was what everyone assumed he would become. Spencer was a good student, a talented athlete, and well-liked by everyone. Though he was included in the popular clique at the high school, he didn’t identify himself with them exclusively.
Yvonne once heard him joke with a friend, “Yeah, I suppose I am the geekiest of the cool kids and maybe the coolest of the geeks. Maybe.”
In any case, he would not leave any of his friends behind. He was like the Pied Piper, calling everyone to play miniature golf, Ultimate Frisbee, or to meet at the swimming hole by the covered bridge. Spencer was all about the more, the merrier.
The whole town was shocked when they heard what happened. The event seemed completely out of character for him. Some kids on a competing lacrosse team had invited Spencer and a few others to a party in DeGranit. He’d gone because he wanted to meet up with a girl with whom, all his friends told Yvonne, he had fallen instantly in love. They all talked about her jet black hair that was so long and shiny that it tossed and shimmered every time she moved.
The night of the party, Spencer commented on the striking contrast between her hair and eyes. He surprised himself when he told her, “Your eyes are the clearest blue I’ve ever seen.” He dared to touch her cheek. “Your skin is perfect. It’s what I imagine ivory looks like.”
She answered him in a husky voice barely above a whisper, “It’s an Irish thing. My family is black Irish, although that’s actually an American term. My people came from Galway when the Irish were considered low caste. Even the other Catholics shunned us here. The congregation wouldn’t allow my great-grandparents to be buried in the Catholic cemetery. You know the spot they call Irish Hill? There’s a small graveyard in there. That’s where my ancestors are buried, away from the others.”
The Opposite of Never Page 3