The Opposite of Never

by Mary Kathleen Mehuron

  Zelda was moved to tears, but she abruptly jumped up to stir the fire. “I was going to say I wish I’d met you before I got into this mess, but I realized I did meet you before, just before my life went spiraling downhill.”

  “Your mother died. You watched her suffer for a long time. Anyone could be derailed by that.”

  Zelda rejected his dismissal of her many sins. Adeptly, she changed the subject. “I’ve got one pan and one pot. I’m hoping we wind up with grilled sirloin tips and asparagus with rice. It’s an experiment. Wish me luck.”

  “I’ll gather up more wood and feed the horses, unless there’s anything I can do to help you.” When she shook her head, he went on, “Zelda, no matter what, it’s going to be a beautiful night.” Before Spencer walked away to work on his chores, he dug into his pack and found the five bottles of prescription pills he took every day. There was an anti-seizure medication, an anti-inflammatory, an anti-epileptic drug used to treat his neuropathic pain, and a narcotic he took every four hours. Spencer was so used to taking them that, one by one, he swallowed the pills down dry. With a wave of his hand, he strode off toward Tom and his own mount, Horace.

  As the night wore on, just as Spencer predicted, the night sky was bright, and they competed to be the first to spot falling stars. After a delicious dinner, the cleanup, and hours by the fire chatting, Zelda and Spencer climbed into their little dome tent to sleep for the night. It looked like a yellow Chinese lantern lit from within. After they closed up the flap to the outside, they settled into a huge sleeping bag that had been made by zipping two smaller ones together. They had also brought crisp sheets and pillows. Each of them wore a clean T-shirt to bed.

  Zelda was exhausted. When she lay down, she turned toward the wall of the tent to curl up, but Spencer spooned up behind her tenderly. He assured her, “I just want to snuggle a little.” So she relaxed back into his embrace and closed her eyes. His hand stroked her arm and it felt like a natural progression when he put it under her cotton shirt and moved the palm of his hand across her belly. But when he reached higher to cup her breast, Zelda gasped.

  “Spencer! I thought that we were going to wait.”

  “I’m sorry.” He pulled away and lay on his back laughing.

  Zelda lifted up on one elbow to watch him. “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s like, once I touch you, my hand doesn’t belong to me; they just move around on their own. I’m just going to have to stay over here on this side. Damn! You have the most velvety skin. It’s irresistible. Man! And you smell so good.”

  Zelda smiled. “Thank you. I think. It’s pretty nice to be near you too. Spencer, I was thinking about our decision to hold off. There’s another good reason to do it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “When I got bad enough that I was shooting up, I did some terrible things to get heroin. I’m almost grateful that many times I went into a blackout, and I don’t remember the guy or the act. But some of them I do remember, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach.” Zelda paused for a bit, searching for the right words. “I don’t want those memories coming between us. Life with you is new and kind of . . . unspoiled, and they made me feel the opposite. Dirty. I thought I’d work on this for a while with my counselor.”

  Spencer reached over and embraced her so that she could lie on his shoulder. He told her, “That sounds like a good idea, sweetheart. God, I love you!”

  Her heart leaped. “I love you, too.”

  “Do you think that you can fall asleep?”

  “In a heartbeat. It’s been a long day, a good day, but a long one.”

  Sixteen

  “I am a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work, the more I have of it.”

  —Thomas Jefferson

  Kenny and Georgia sat on Kenny’s front porch in bent-cane rocking chairs with a split log coffee table in front of them. They both wore jeans and wool sweaters, and each held a tulip-shaped wine glass containing an almost orange-colored rosé. Two locally produced cheeses, one of them made by Spencer, and a rectangle of pâté were set out on a decorative cutting board. In a gorgeous hand-blown glass bowl, Kenny had put whole-wheat crackers so thick they looked more like cookies. The vista before them was Millhouse Pond, where the sun was sinking toward the ridge of mountains at the far end of their view.

  “This is quite a show, Kenny. Thank you for the appetizers.”

  “Thanks for bringing the wine. I bought a bottle when I went to town, too, so we have plenty. We can sit back and enjoy the sunset.”

  She lifted her glass. “I still have to drive home. I need to be a little careful.”

  He acknowledged the truth in what she said with a nod. “Don’t blame me if I indulge a bit. It isn’t often that I have the whole house to myself.” His expression abruptly changed as if he’d had a brainstorm. “Hey, can I show you something I’m working on?”

  “Sure.”

  Kenny went into the house and brought out a wooden rocking horse scaled very small, as if for a toddler. The body appeared hand carved and looked like an old-fashioned folk art piece. She could smell the raw pine because it hadn’t been sealed yet. “Kenny, it’s darling! Don’t tell me you made it.”

  “I did. I want to start getting ready for the baby.”

  “Are you going to stain or paint it?”

  “I haven’t decided. What do you think would be best?”

  “The horse’s face you created with your chisels is adorable. It reminds me of collectibles I’ve seen from the early fifties. Maybe you could look at pictures of old rockers, even kid’s books from the time, and they will give you some ideas of what to use for your finish coat.”

  Kenny put the toy down on the floor. “That’s a great idea. I could also look up paint products that are safe for toddlers, you know, not toxic or anything. I’ve been reading about how they put everything in their mouth.”

  “You really are getting ready,” she said, and took a sip of the wine.

  “I’m trying hard to. Georgia, did you know Zelda was five when I met her? I’ve never been part of the experience of having an infant to take care of. At first, I thought she had been reckless when she got pregnant, and I was mad, but now I’m ready to make the best of it. It will probably be a lot of fun. Not every minute mind you, but most of the time it will wind up being a blessing.”

  Georgia said, “It may be good for Zelda, as an added incentive too, for her to stay on the straight and narrow.”

  Kenny looked down at the floor and sighed. “Let’s hope that’s true.” He clapped his hands together and met her eyes. “Let’s get to the matter at hand. Georgia, I know you had two classes this afternoon. Did you have time to look at real estate online?”

  “I did, but I quickly discovered this isn’t a simple matter. For one thing, we didn’t talk about the size of your proposed building lot.”

  He said, “According to the town’s zoning administrator, between the beach, the road, and the fact you want to sink the foundation into the slope of the hill, there should be more than enough setback. But because it’s waterfront property, the septic design will be critical. You’ll have to pay the long dollar to put in a concrete tank, I’m sure you know that already.”

  She was quick to reply. “The reason our lakes and ponds are as clean as they are here in Vermont is because of our restrictions. I’m happy to follow the guidelines for the privilege of being on the water.”

  Kenny leaned forward a little and asked, “Even if it costs you a lot more money for your septic system?”

  Georgia pointed at Millhouse Pond and swept her arm back and forth to indicate the sweeping view. “Even then.”

  He sat back, feeling relieved. “Okay, as long as we’re clear. I don’t want you committing to this project unless you understand the financial pieces involved. Not that I’m sure I do either. Georgia, please believe me when I say I am always going to tell you the truth as best I know it, but I’m not a builder. Clearly, I’m not a surveyor either. You ask
ed me about the size of the lot and I’m not sure I can even estimate it.”

  The look on Kenny’s face changed.

  Georgia immediately asked him, “What is it?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “There’s one thing I worry about most, and I’d love to get it off my chest. I’m concerned we could reach an obstacle during this process and you would be angry with me. Anger can sometimes lead to a falling out. While it would be nice to have a chunk of change in the bank, there’s no amount of money that’s worth losing our friendship over.”

  “Thank you for saying that, Kenny. I want you to know I feel the same way. Realistically, though, there will be obstacles. Nothing worth doing is ever easy. If we can talk things over every step of the way there’s less likely to be resentments. Don’t you think?”

  He lifted his wine. “I do. So let’s raise a glass to our first business meeting for the new house. Hey, just for fun, let’s give it a name. Do you want to? What do you want to call it?”

  She didn’t have to think twice about the answer: “Double Loon Lodge.”

  He clinked her glass with his own and said, “I assume the name represents our nesting loons on the pond?” When she nodded, he continued, “A toast to the first meeting of the planning commission for Double Loon Lodge.”

  They sipped and sat quietly for a time looking out at the horizon. The lake seemed to be absorbing the sinking orange sun. A refreshing breeze began to lift over the water and gust up the hill to where they were sitting. “The scent rising off the water is intoxicating,” Georgia said, though she hadn’t even realized she had spoken out loud.

  Kenny added softly, “It’s like the smell of new life. Like a baby’s skin or a newly picked cantaloupe.”

  Huge cumulus billows rimmed with red floated across the top of several striations of pink-and-purple, fair-weather clouds. The sky and all its colors were reflected across the surface of the water. They were enthralled and felt tranquil sitting in silence for several minutes. Kenny was lost in thought, and when he realized it, he shook himself and got back to business. “You will need a certain distance behind the new house for your building envelope set-back. I think you should have an additional hundred feet for good measure. Just to be on the safe side, as laws could change over time. I think the lot size should be, at least, an acre and a half. It’s going to be an odd shape, though.”

  Georgia thought about what he told her and asked, “Should I bring some wooden stakes to mark where we think the corner posts will be? We’ll have to walk the site carefully. Once we do that, we could bring in a surveyor. Shall we split the cost?”

  “No, that’s my bill to pay. I’ll be the one applying for a subdivision permit.”

  “All right, if you think that’s fair. Back to the land prices I looked at today. I printed out some of the real estate listings. They’re here in my messenger bag.” Georgia dug out a stack of papers. “Here. You see the first lot I came across is on Elwell Pond in Peacham. Then we have another on Island Pond in Brighton, and Willoughby, and then Caspian Lake. There are some different realities between here in the valley and up in the Northeast Kingdom. Our area is within commuting distance to Montpelier, Burlington, and even Middlebury. That drives our real estate values up. Then, there is the additional amenity of having three different ski mountains close by. Our schools are really good, too. I know the housing market is down, but I still have to think a lot like this is worth a hundred thousand dollars. Kenny, if you take the time to look online you will see some go for more than that. One thing that’s going to help us narrow down your asking price is to establish how much shoreline you are deeding over. It’s probably the most important factor.”

  “All right, we’ve made progress today, but we still have research to do. The important thing we’ve established is that it’s possible to subdivide and build there. And we’ve come up with a ballpark price. I think that’s a pretty good day’s work.”

  Georgia’s eyes welled up. “The more I think about it, the more excited I am. Up until now, even the thought of packing up my home and moving out was devastating. For the first time, I feel some hope that my new life here on Millhouse Pond could be better than the one I’m living right now. Thank you for coming up with this idea, Kenny. I’m sure you can’t imagine what it means to me.”

  “You’re welcome, but this could seriously be a win-win. Putting somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred grand into investments would make me feel more secure. Georgia, look down the hill. We can’t even see the lot we’re talking about. It really won’t change my life very much.”

  Georgia jumped in her seat because she had a sudden brainstorm. “Hey. I’ve got an idea. Let me take you out to dinner. Let’s drive down to the restaurant that just opened near the covered bridge. They have a couple of tables set right on the bank of the Barmy River with party lights and a pergola. My treat.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I feel like celebrating. We should probably take both cars. I’ll head home right afterward.”

  “Let’s go. The sunset is fading anyhow. Will you help me carry this stuff inside? Just leave it all on the kitchen counter and I can clean it up later.”

  “How lucky are we to be able to watch the sunset over the pond and then have dinner on the river. Vermont! I never take it for granted.”

  Seventeen

  “The fiercest anger of all, the most incurable, is that which rages in the place of dearest love.”

  —Euripides

  Yvonne assumed the young people were back from their camping trip. As upset as she had been after the confession Zelda made at Kenny’s house, she was appalled that afterward Spencer and Zelda had treated her with so little respect. The very next day, Zelda came to work at Yvonne’s barn. That same afternoon, she saw the two of them riding her horses up the side of her mountain as if nothing had happened. As if she’d never had her entire life shut down in the blink of an eye by that drug-dealing hussy. As if she hadn’t suffered years of terror and hopelessness at the hands of that girl.

  There was a time long ago when she’d gloried in the success of her son: the star athlete, the honor student, the boy with excellent character. Their town’s Lions Club gave out an award at every eighth-grade graduation to the boy and girl who exemplified the best moral fiber as a community member. Spencer had won that award. Of course, he had. Many people told her he was one of the finest children they had ever known.

  But when her church congregation found out he was on drugs the night of the accident, some of the women had shown up at the hospital just to gloat. Their sympathetic platitudes were delivered to Yvonne along with smug little smiles. Yvonne thought, Oh, how the mighty have fallen. There were even rumblings about the scandal that had clouded her own adolescence many years before. Two group emails were exchanged and accidently sent to her that read: “Like mother, like son,” and “Apples don’t fall far from the tree.” She quickly understood that some people have a long memory for gossip and a talent for backstabbing.

  Her real friends hadn’t rushed in during the crisis. Instead, they had waited to find out what she and Rolland really needed. Georgia brought a ham and Linda a turkey. They had gone out and purchased new Tupperware to store both of them, pre-sliced and stacked in her refrigerator. In addition to the meats, they added three containers of different salads and a lasagna in a disposable aluminum baking pan.

  Top to bottom, her friends had scrubbed her home clean. When she came back from the hospital to rest one night, the comforter on her bed smelled like sunshine. Yvonne got up and sniffed the quilts in Spencer’s room, and they had the same bouquet. Obviously, they had been washed and hung out to dry on the clothesline. She was so overcome by Georgia and Linda’s kindness and hard work that she had to lean against the window frame with her shoulder for support. As she was there looking out, she was astonished to find the sunshine scent was also emanating from Spencer’s curtains. She ran from one room to the next and each had the same aroma of laundry hung o
ut to dry in the sunlight. That was what real friends did.

  Yvonne suffered as she battled with the shame she felt about failing her only child. Everyone always blamed the mother, so it was assumed this was somehow her fault. She went quite early to the hospital each day, and she stayed late. Her husband, claiming someone had to hold down the fort, worked longer hours instead. During the periods when Spencer could be at home, Rolland was kind and attentive to his son, but not at the hospital. No, during the hours of prayerful hope, his long coma, the surgeries, and the ongoing procedures—Yvonne was alone.

  What was the word for a mother whose child died? In English, there was no such word. Yvonne thought it an indictment of how horrifying the event would be, and she lived in an almost constant state of anxiety about it. To try to name what she feared most, Yvonne searched the Internet and found a term in Chinese. It was shidu, defined as the loss of a parent’s only child. In the early days, after Spencer was injured, she prayed only that she would not become shidu.

  Although her prayers were answered and he lived, six months passed with Spencer still in and out of consciousness. So for the next year she prayed for him to know what was going on around him and to understand. Understand anything. Yvonne asked God to grant Spencer the ability to think about and enjoy even the smallest moments of what was left of his life.

  She knelt down twice each day for a half hour before a makeshift altar she had created on a side table, and said a complete rosary. But even though she was devoted to this mantra of “Hail Mary” prayers and beads, Yvonne refused to go to church. She was conflicted about the Almighty and her parish, often thinking, Dear Lord, I want your favor but I am angry. Angry at you. What kind of merciful creator would destroy my child? You command everything in this world. Why did you choose to hurt him?

  Our Lady of Victories Church and Catholic school had been her spiritual home for fifty-eight years, yet now she dreaded walking through the door. When the parishioners asked, “How are you?” it seemed to her falsely sympathetic. In her mind, their concerned questions were really thinly disguised judgments. It reminded her of the line from Matthew in the Bible, “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly they are ravening wolves.”