The Good Nearby

by Nancy Moser

  Gladys let her eyes graze across the posters, taking her on a world tour. She loved to travel. Every year starting ten years ago, Gladys, her mother, and her aunt June went on exotic trips. They’d scrape money together all year to do that. They were three women who handled life as it was thrown at them—and came out on top, laughing and having a great time. And each other.

  Which up until recently had been enough. There hadn’t been any trips for two years now. Her mother’s health was an issue, and she and Aunt June had moved the two of them into a nice retirement establishment. Gladys blamed her mother’s health for the end of the travels of the Terrible Trio. But now, with her own eyes going out on her . . .

  She wished she had someone to blame for that. Not that it could make her condition go away, but to have lived a healthy lifestyle and still have her body rebel . . .

  God. I could blame God.

  She shook her head and stared at the top of the desk. If she didn’t give God credit for the good things she certainly couldn’t dump the bad things on him. Because she’d gotten through on her own guts and gumption she was quite willing to be held fully accountable for her failures as well as her successes. She hated people who believed it was someone else’s fault—or someone else’s glory.

  Her thoughts turned to Mick and Margery. She wasn’t sure about Margery yet, but she would bet the rest of her eyesight that Mick was the sort who never tied even the thinnest thread of blame around his own finger—which is what made him a loser.

  With a slap of her palms against the desk, she forced any thought of Mick and Margery away. She’d already helped to untangle their life as much—if not more—than she should have. Now it was their decision to sink or swim. She had her own tangles to straighten out, her own decision to make.

  Should she tell Dr. Moss to put her name on the transplant list, or go blind?

  She snickered at the absurdity of the choice but couldn’t bring herself to make the decision.

  She stood. Enough. She had work to do.

  Yet as she left the office one thought remained . . .

  Bad things come in threes.

  * * *

  Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me . . .

  Gennifer found herself humming and stopped, not wanting Douglas to hear her while he took his shower. He’d come home last night from his Iowa trip and hadn’t mentioned her birthday. It had taken all her willpower not to remind him. The $5000 purchase from Girabaldi Jewelers would be proof enough he remembered. No need to nag.

  She heard him singing Elvis’s “Love Me Tender.” He had a nice voice.

  But then she realized that since he was occupied in the shower she didn’t have to wait to see her present. Not if she was quick about it. His suitcase was on the floor by the window. Still packed. Still containing the gift. Her gift. Yes, her gift . . .

  With one last glance toward the bathroom she rushed to the luggage, being careful not to disturb his neatly folded clothes. Her fingertips searched for a sack or a small box or—

  She felt a leather case. Eureka! The treasure was found. Gennifer pulled out a large burgundy box with a fleur-de-lis embossed in gold in the center of the hinged lid. It was way too big for a ring—which was fine with her. She found rings bothersome. It was even too large for a bracelet—which also met with her approval since bracelets annoyed her when she gestured with her hands in court. The box was the size of a necklace. She smiled in expectation and opened it.

  It was a choker made of . . .

  Pearls.

  The heat of her excitement was doused as if she’d taken a cold show—

  The shower—and Douglas’s song—stopped. She quickly closed the jewelry box, slipped it between the folds of the clothes, and shut the top of the suitcase.

  Douglas came out of the bathroom wrapped in a terry robe. “Glad to see you’re up.” He came to her and kissed her cheek. “Birthday girl.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I assume you want to go to Cleveland’s for dinner tonight?”

  “That would be nice.”

  He smiled, revealing perfect teeth that had cost them another five thousand dollars just a year earlier. “I bought you something special,” he said.

  “Really.”

  “Something I think you’ll love.”

  Really.

  She headed for the shower—a hot, steaming shower.

  * * *

  “But I have to be careful, honey,” Nesto said, kissing the top of her head as he lay beside her. “The doctor said.”

  She knew that. At least her brain new that, but the rest of her body had trouble with it. Nesto was a beautiful man. Initially Talia had been attracted to his dark Portuguese looks, his luscious accent, and his way of looking at her as if . . . to quote Scarlett O’Hara, “As if he knew what I looked like without my shimmy.” Talia ached to be with him, and practically trembled when he was close. When he used to brush his gentle hand against her skin . . .

  Their initial sexual attraction had grown into a healthy married sex life. That’s why the lack of sex now was so painful.

  He nestled her close, burrowing his nose into her short, curly hair. “Women like to cuddle, don’t they?”

  She nodded against his chin. And she did like to cuddle. Nesto was a great cuddler. But sometimes she wanted more. Was that so wrong?

  Talia pulled back the covers and got out of bed.

  “You don’t have to get up for ten more minutes,” he said.

  Talia headed to the bathroom. “I have to get to work early.”

  It was a lie.

  * * *

  If she had to plaster on one more smile . . .

  Talia fled from the convention’s check-in table and detoured down an empty hall that led to empty meeting rooms.

  Where there were no people who needed her.

  Where there were no responsibilities.

  She chose the first room on her right, went inside, and closed the door. She didn’t even turn on the light. Through the small window in the door, she could see enough to find a chair and claim it as her oasis. If only she could stay here and never venture into the world that demanded too much from—

  She started when the door opened and stood when she saw it was Wade.

  “Talia? I thought I saw you slip in here.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “Who are you hiding from?” he whispered.

  Even though it was dark except for the light from the hall, she only shrugged and shook her head.

  But he saw. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “Poor Talia. Poor girl.”

  Upon hearing the sound of her name said with such compassion, tears appeared. She backed away from him into the shadows. “I’m sorry. This is silly and highly unprofessional.”

  “Is it your husband? Is he worse?”

  “Not worse. The same. But still bad.”

  He removed the handkerchief from the pocket of his suit coat and handed it to her. “I hate seeing you overwhelmed with the burden.”

  She carefully dabbed under her eyes, trying not to ruin her makeup. “He does what he can.”

  “Which obviously isn’t enough.”

  She sniffed and tried to regain her decorum. “It’s fine.”

  The silence between them was intensified by the darkened room.

  “I need to get back to work,” she said.

  His hand brushed her shoulder at she passed. “Remember, I’m always here if you need me, Talia. Any time. Any time at all.”

  She nodded and escaped into the hall.

  * * *

  If Margery had her choice, she’d evaporate into nothingness. Escape to never-never land. But the day offered neither choice. Later, at work, she knew she would feel uncomfortable under the watchful eye of Gladys, and here at the jail, waiting for Mick to appear—knowing she’d just spent a thousand dollars they didn’t have—her most avid wish was to become invisible. Only then would she be able to avoid the disgusted looks from the polic
e officers as if she herself was guilty. Maybe she was. Guilty of having a husband who was dumb enough to get himself arrested.

  Not that she blamed them for judging her. Most women didn’t have to deal with such things. Most women didn’t pick losers.

  She shut her eyes. It did no good to call her husband names. Life had dealt her Mick. She had to handle it. Handle him. It’s not like she had a lot of options. A woman with only a high school education, no job experience that looked good on a résumé, no talents, few skills, fading looks, an expanding waistline, and no hope. Why was she even here?

  The door leading to the cells opened and Mick came out, his chin tight, his eyes red, his hair a mess. He shoved his arms into the sleeves of his jacket.

  She moved to kiss his cheek, but he brushed past her, making her kiss fall on dead air. “Let’s get outta here.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door.

  “See ya soon, Mick,” called an officer.

  Mick gave him the finger just as the door closed. Margery hoped he couldn’t get arrested for that. She tensed as they walked to the elevator, but no policeman stormed after them.

  Mick jabbed the Down button repeatedly. Margery stood half a step behind, wishing she could take a different elevator, or at the very least hoping it would be full so she wouldn’t have to be alone with him.

  No such luck on either account. The elevator doors opened to an empty car. Mick went in first.

  Margery hesitated.

  “Get in here.”

  She did as she was told.

  * * *

  Margery had tried to perfect the art of not caring about the silence between them, had even tried to embrace it as better than the ranting-raving alternative. But the drive between jail and home made her wish she’d tried harder.

  If only she didn’t care.

  If only he did.

  As they drove block after block she thought about telling him where she got the bail money, yet had mixed feelings about whether he should know. Would he think more of her because she was willing to steal to set him free? Or would he get after her for botching the job by getting caught? The loan from Gladys would have to be repaid. Stolen money didn’t.

  She checked her watch. She needed to get to work. She’d told Gladys she would be back as soon as possible. It was going to be a long day. It had been a long day already.

  Mick pulled in front of their trailer and got out, slamming his door. He stomped inside, letting the screen door fall back upon her. He drilled his jacket into the chair and fell onto the couch, grabbing the remote on the way.

  “Aren’t you going to work?” she asked.

  “It’s too late.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she said. “Better some hours than none. You should at least call.”

  He flashed her a look. “Don’t nag.”

  “I’m n—”

  “Got anything to eat?”

  She was stunned to silence.

  He looked away from the TV, directly at her. “Food?”

  “You could at least say thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For bailing you out.”

  “For doing what a wife’s supposed to do?”

  The weight of the morning crashed around her. She moved to the edge of the coffee table and tried—unsuccessfully—to get her voice under control before speaking. “Most wives don’t have to bail their husbands out of jail.”

  He looked away. “Sorry to inconvenience you.”

  She shifted her weight to the other foot. “It . . . it wasn’t easy getting the money.”

  He snickered. “What’d you do? Rob a bank?”

  Suddenly, she was at the couch, yanking him to standing. “Out! Get out! I want you out—now!”

  Once he got his balance, he became the one who did the pulling, and within seconds pulled her down on the couch on top of him. She sprawled, one foot on the floor, her arm desperately seeking something to keep her upright.

  Mick wrapped his arms around her, binding her in a vise grip. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

  “Let go!”

  He held her more tightly and whispered in her ear. “You think you’re in control? Think again.”

  He had her. There was nothing she could do to get away, nothing she could do to make the whole situation go away. Why had she provoked him? It was a battle she couldn’t win. Had never won. What had she been thinking?

  Held captive, she grabbed a breath and forced her voice into a whisper. “Let me go, Mick.”

  “Let you go? Let you go? I think that’s a perfect idea.”

  He pushed her off, making her fall between the couch and the coffee table. Her elbow hit the edge hard, but she didn’t have time to even wince because a second later he wrenched her to her feet, forcing her to high-step over the table, making her turn her ankle as she sought solid ground. He propelled her toward the front door— which he swung open, nearly making it collide with her face.

  He shoved her outside, where she fell off the small stoop and down three steps, sprawling onto the gravel drive. “Let you go, you say? Gladly. Go. Get outta here!”

  Only then, finally free of his physical contact, did she realize what all the scuffle had been about. “You’re kicking me out?”

  “Hey, you wanted me out. I think you’re the one who should go. Besides, you asked for it.”

  She attempted to stand but her ankle balked at the weight. “I didn’t mean that, Mick. I just wanted you to stop. . . .”

  He made a gallant bowing gesture like a gentleman in court. “Your wish is my command.”

  Margery looked behind her, suddenly aware that their trailer-park neighbors were watching through parted curtains. “Let’s go inside and work this out.”

  Mick disappeared into the trailer, leaving the door open. Margery started up the steps, leaning on the railing for support. But before she could reach the landing, he returned with her purse. He threw it at her, making the contents scatter on the gravel. “Here you go. Have a nice life.”

  With that, he slammed the door and yanked its curtain shut.

  What just happened?

  She heard the volume on the television rise. The inane clapping of The Price Is Right fell upon her like evil applause for their scene.

  Margery gathered her things, shoved them back in her purse, and drove away. To where, she wasn’t sure.

  * * *

  Margery had to get to work. But first she needed to figure out where she would go after work. She drove around town, weighing her options. There weren’t many.

  At a stoplight she went through her billfold: forty-three dollars. With its negative balance the checkbook was useless. The credit card was maxed out. She passed a motel whose sign read Single: $24.99. Cheap, but she couldn’t waste her funds on sleeping.

  Friends . . . what friends would take her in?

  Most of her friends were waitresses at the Chug & Chew. None close. And now that she’d quit, they certainly wouldn’t feel beholden to take her in.

  Mick had never been interested in going out with other couples, so that avenue was out too. Her thoughts moved to Gladys, but quickly backtracked. There was no way she could impose on Gladys even a smidgen more than she already had.

  So. There was no one who could be her savior. No one who would take pity on her and comfort her. She was totally on her own.

  An idea began to form and she glanced over her shoulder into the backseat. She’d always hated this old boat of a car Mick had bought from someone’s mother at the garage. It was far more car than Margery needed to run around town.

  And yet it was just enough car to stretch out in, to sleep in.

  Home sweet home.

  * * *

  Looking in the rearview mirror moments before she headed into the store to work, Margery noticed her eyes were swollen and red, and her makeup washed away by tears. Sadly, she had nothing in her purse except some powder and lipstick. They helped, but could not cover up the trauma she’d been through i
n the past few hours. Hopefully, Gladys wouldn’t notice.

  With one last look in the mirror, Margery took a deep breath. “It’s showtime.” She headed inside, the jangle of the door’s bell announcing her entrance.

  Gladys looked up from the front register where she was giving a man change. “Come again, Al. Hope that allergy medicine works for you.”

  Margery nodded to the man as they passed.

  Gladys raised her eyebrows. “Good morning, or should I say good afternoon.”

  “Sorry. I’ll get right to work.” Margery came toward the register. Her sore ankle buckled and she stumbled.

  Gladys came around the counter. “What happened to you?”

  Margery sidled past her, put her purse under the counter, and pinned on her name tag. “I twisted it. I’ll be okay.”

  Gladys leaned close to study her face, but Margery turned away, straightening a counter display of ChapStick.

  “Odd word, okay,” Gladys said. “It can mean just the opposite.”

  Now it was definitely showtime. Margery dug deep and found strength enough to smile. “Not this time.”

  “So, the bail’s been paid and Mick is set free?”

  “Home safe.” She noticed a blue stripe on the receipt roll. “This roll needs changing.”

  “It had to have been traumatic for you—getting him out and all.”

  Margery shrugged. “I got through it.” For the first time she turned her attention to her boss. “I want to thank you again for the loan and for your forgiveness this morning. You won’t regret it.”

  “Make sure I don’t.” The phone in the pharmacy rang and Gladys headed in that direction.

  Saved by the bell.

  * * *

  Angie Schuster parked in front of Marlo’s Coffee Shop. As usual, she was early. That was all right. It gave her time to get out the little red notebook that contained her to-do list. She took much satisfaction in checking things off: Volunteer at hospital 9–11, Meals On Wheels 12–2, Haircut 2:30, Meet new mentee 3:30.

  Mentee? Was that the correct term? Angie was going to be the mentor, so that made the girl the mentee? Just to be safe she’d avoid using the term at all.