“All we want is to get to revel in the positive energy of this experience, to be young and in love and unutterably happy.” He nodded his head toward Annabelle. “She won’t be happy until her family is happy, and I’ll do anything in my power to keep her smiling.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “So, please. I’m begging you. Help me give her the one thing I can’t.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’re good, kid.” Then I squinted my eyes. “How many times have you been married?”
He shook his head. “Never. Never even been in love. That’s how I knew TL was the one. I saw her, and I never wanted to be away from her again.”
“TL?”
“True love,” Annabelle sighed wistfully.
“Oh, mercy.” I rolled my eyes, but, in reality, I thought it was sort of sweet. If I closed my eyes, I could put myself back in those days where love was more butterflies and love songs than grit and commitment.
Then I gasped. “Of course. You’re pregnant.” I shook my head. “Well, I’m just glad you ran off and got this whole thing over with.”
Ben and Annabelle laughed. “I’m not pregnant, Lovey.”
“Well . . . ,” Ben said.
Annabelle smiled. “Okay. I can’t promise I’m not pregnant, but I can promise that I wasn’t pregnant before my wedding night.”
The thought of her having a baby was what finally put the fear in me. A misguided marriage is bad. But you can get out of it with little fanfare. Once children are a part of the equation, there’s an entirely new level of finality to the thing. As I picked up the phone, I hate to admit that, though I wasn’t sure about him, I was fantasizing about seeing Ben’s gorgeous eyes and Annabelle’s perfect complexion on a little great-grandchild.
When I had called my daughter, she answered on the first ring, as she always did. I think she was panicked that one of us would die and she wouldn’t be there. “Jean,” I remember saying to her one day, “we all know how much we mean to each other. And that’s the best gift in life. Because no matter when the final moment comes, we don’t have to feel regret. We’ve loved as hard as we can.”
I think it eased her mind, but not her predictability. She walked through the glass double front doors, into the entrance hall, and then she saw us. My tall, slender, fair-haired youngest girl stopped dead in her tracks, put her thumbs into the sides of the belt around her thin waist, took a deep breath and said, “Why do I get the feeling I’m being ambushed?”
They were the exact same words that came out of my mouth, not three hours after remembering that day, when Annabelle and I arrived home from Martha’s Vineyard. After a plane flight and car ride, I arrived at my front door, exhausted, only to be greeted by my five girls, lined up, side by side, on the brick front stoop.
I glared at them, already knowing they were up to something, the way a mother always does. “What is this?” I asked. “Are y’all playing Red Rover?”
Sally stepped forward and hugged me, and I could see the tiniest quiver in her chin, giving away her tender heart. I sighed.
I sat down on the iron bench on the front porch, knowing I wasn’t getting past that barricade of daughters any more than Dan was going to get up and salsa.
Lauren sat down beside me and said, “Momma, this is an intervention.”
“A what?” My voice was high and squeaky.
“You know,” Annabelle interjected. “Like on the show. ‘Your behavior has affected me in the following ways . . .’”
I looked at all of them like they had announced they were joining a cult and taking me with them on their comet to heaven tomorrow.
“We’re just worried about you and Daddy being here alone at night—” Louise started.
“Okay, okay.” I cut her off. “I’ll hire a night nurse or make arrangements for that dreadful assisted living. Is that what you all want? Could I please just get inside and lie down? It has been quite a long trip.”
“That’s the thing,” Jean said.
And that’s when I could feel my own chin start to quiver. I somehow knew before my youngest even said a word that my home wasn’t my home anymore. I glared at Annabelle. “Did you know about this?”
She put her hands up in defense. “I promise I didn’t know a thing.”
I got up, pushed Jean aside and opened the front door. I gasped at how little furniture was left, the tears flooding to my eyes. Forty-five years of memories in this house, on this street, and—just like that—everything had changed. That seemed to be the theme of my life. “I can’t believe you didn’t even let me say good-bye,” I said softly.
“Momma,” Martha said kindly, “you would never, ever have said good-bye.”
“You never would have been able to part with anything,” Lauren said. “But we knew that this was what you really wanted.”
“So we were only trying to help,” Sally added.
Jean waved her hand as though she hadn’t just destroyed my past in a weekend while I was lounging on the Vineyard totally unaware that my life was being pulled out from under my feet.
“Before you get all upset,” Jean said, “why don’t we get you and Daddy back in the car and go over and check out the new place.”
“If you don’t like it, we’ll move all your stuff back,” Martha said.
“They called,” Lauren said, “and one of the new, remodeled units came available in the best place in town. We knew if we didn’t get it now then we would never get one.”
I was so angry I couldn’t speak. If you can’t say anything nice and all that was running through my mind as I got back in the backseat of the car. I crossed my arms indignantly. Annabelle was trying to calm me down, but I couldn’t even hear what she was saying, seething like I was. I patted Dan’s shoulder. “Our girls sure are something,” I said. “We might have raised them a little too headstrong.”
When we opened the door to our new light-filled assisted living apartment a few minutes later, my arm linked in Annabelle’s—she was the only member of my family, after all, that hadn’t completely betrayed me—we gasped in unison. Though I had shakily decided that I would move, I hadn’t even begun to look for places. In my mind’s eye, I had pictured worn laminate countertops and sterile, white hospital linoleum tile floors, inpatient white walls and sheet glass windows with those thick, black frames.
But this place, with its hardwoods, marble countertops, breakfast island and modern bathrooms complete with soaking tubs and lifts felt more like a spa than a nursing home. And the floor-to-ceiling French doors and windows leading to our private balcony illuminated the entire living space. I put my hand up to my mouth. “Oh my goodness,” I said, examining the waterproof lift remote by the tub. I’ll be able to take a bath again.” Then I looked over at my husband. “So what do you think, Dan?”
He said nothing in response.
“We can get up every morning and have our breakfast on the balcony overlooking the little lake,” I added.
“Yeah, D-daddy,” Annabelle said. “You and Lovey will be dining al fresco all the time.”
He looked up at Annabelle expectantly, like he was waiting for something else. And she smiled proudly as he said, “I think that’d be nice.”
The best part about the apartment was that it was filled with all my things. The Fabergé eggs collected on a glorious trip to Russia, the Herend from Hungary, Dan’s German Lugers from the war. The first antique chest we had ever bought together was perched in the corner of the small living room, a new TV hanging over top, and, of course, Dan’s chair, his lifeline of the past few years, was right across from it.
“So what do you think?” I asked my husband again, not exactly expecting a response but so practiced at figuring his needs into my daily equation that I didn’t know what else to do.
“I think my chair looks nice.”
All my girls laughed, I’m sure from a mixture of relief and happines
s.
“Do you think you can stay here?” I asked Dan.
He looked up at me in that slack-jawed way that filled my heart with pity. “Yeah.”
“Well, girls,” I said. “Your daddy has spoken.”
I would have sooner dropped those Fabergé eggs out the window, one by one, with tiny, experimental parachutes than admit that they had been right. I guess, at eighty-seven, I’d never expected a fresh start.
Annabelle
Be Like Lovey
Leaving your husband for too long is dangerous. According to Lovey, that’s when affections stray. But I disagreed with her. I thought that being apart, at least every now and then, gave people a chance to miss each other. And I had missed Ben like I didn’t know you could.
When I pulled back into the driveway of my pool house, I heard, “Oh, thank the Lord, my girl is home!”
That’s probably something you would expect your husband to say when you return from a five-day trip with your grandparents. Instead, the first person to greet me at my temporary pool house residence was my mother-in-law, Emily.
I gave her a hug and said, “I missed you so much!”
“I missed you so much,” I heard from behind me.
I turned and jumped into Ben’s arms, wrapping my legs around his waist and kissing him.
“Wow,” Emily said. “I’m a little jealous. His greeting seemed more enthusiastic than mine.”
I laughed. “Maybe it seemed that way, but what I think I actually missed most was your warm quinoa cranberry salad.”
Emily started backing away, grinning like her scratch-off ticket was the five-thousand-dollar winner. “Well, then I’ll go whip some up right now!”
“I’ll come help you in a minute,” I called after her.
“I don’t think so,” Ben said, taking my hand in his and raising his eyebrows suggestively.
I smiled, thinking that I was the luckiest girl in the world. A husband love stories are written about, a doll of a mother-in-law and a home so gorgeous I didn’t think I’d ever want to leave it. Who would ever want to have their own house when the one they were in came with a pool and three free meals a day?
“Let’s go celebrate your return,” Ben whispered in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
I lit up and then, remembering, scrunched my nose. “I’m having my period.”
I could see the disappointment in his face, and I knew it was about more than just sex. “Oh,” he said. “Again?”
“Yeah, again,” I said, hearing the irritation rising in my voice. “Every month.” Then, trying to take the edge off, I asked, “Did you miss that day of sex ed or something?”
He ventured a half smile and said, “I guess I was just hoping . . .”
I shrugged, trying to remain unflustered, trying to ignore the fact that my calm, relaxed, adoring husband was putting an undue amount of pressure on me. I probably should have said something of that nature to him, because I’m sure he didn’t mean it. But I didn’t because I didn’t want him to think I was being silly. Instead, I replied, “Well, obviously I was hoping too.”
I couldn’t help but hear my mother’s voice in my head. Annabelle, it’s too soon to have a baby. I know you think he’s the love of your life, but, for heaven’s sake, you two barely know each other. Give it time, get in your routine, build that strong foundation. That is the most important thing. A baby needs totally committed and completely ready parents.
I gritted my teeth even thinking about that, of how skeptical she and my dad had been about the fact that I had married Ben three days after I met him. If I was honest, I’d yet to find anyone—even Cameron—who wasn’t a little leery of it. But to us, it was a great love story, the mark of how unutterably sure we were that we were the one and only to each other.
I had said to my mom, “It took you and Dad like a decade to have me. I don’t want Ben and me to have to go through that.” I had crossed my arms. “Why can’t you just be like Lovey? Why can’t you see what we have? Can you not just be happy for me?”
Sure, I was acting like a child, but, in reality, I sort of was one. And it pierced right through me when she had said, “Lovey isn’t happy that you threw away your perfect life on some fly-by-night guy you barely knew. She just has the sense to know that you’re going to figure out what a mistake it was in your own time.”
I had walked out then, tears burning in my eyes, crossed between the indignation that no one could see how perfect Ben and I were and that far-off fear that, oh God, what if she was right?
As I walked through the door of the pool house, Ben kissed my neck, and all of that worry and all of those ugly moments floated away. Ben. I even loved to say his name. I turned and kissed him.
“I need to jump in the shower and get this plane grime off of me,” I said.
“I need to shower too,” Ben said, raising his eyebrows. He kissed my cheek, then my neck and whispered, “Seems like a shame to waste all that water . . .” He was grinning at me so boyishly that I couldn’t be mad anymore.
“I think that sounds amazing,” I said.
I turned and ran toward the bathroom, Ben laughing and following behind me. I loved squeezing soap into the ridges of his tight abdomen, those dimples in his cheeks coming out as he leaned over and kissed me, so much taller than I. I felt myself relax. I felt my body meld into his, free from the stress of whether it was going to fail me yet again, of whether next month would bring yet another negative pregnancy test. In those moments with Ben, for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was right where I needed to be.
Lovey
A Thing About Marriage
May 1945
I’d been warned against wasteful spending my whole life. So, the entire time I was in New York City, I sent my parents one telegram. It read, Celebrated victory in Times Square STOP Home May 28 STOP Love you STOP. In those days, you quickly became experienced at saying everything you needed in the ten-words-or-less telegram price break.
I never heard back. Needless to say, I had no idea what to expect on the final leg of that trip back to reality, back to where I’d come from. I cried the entire plane flight home. Partially, I’m sure, I was sad about leaving a world that had charmed me more quickly than a soldier on leave. But the real tears were for the actual soldier on leave that I was flying away from. Conveniently, Dan’s family had moved from Bath just up the road to New Bern. “Had to come all the way to New York City to find each other again,” we were fond of saying. We weren’t neighbors, exactly, but weekend visits were possible.
“I’ll write you every day,” I had said when our lips parted.
“No need,” he said breathlessly. “As soon as I talk to your parents, I’ll be asking for your hand.”
I smiled thinking about that, the rain clouds of my tears finally drying up in the midafternoon sun streaming through the window. His love was all I needed.
I’d certainly never wanted to be a model, so this contest, this win, this picture in the magazine, it truly must have been orchestrated by someone much greater than I was to fling me back into the arms of my Dan. I had had my picture taken a few more times during the trip to document how marvelous winning this contest was, and how fantastic the cosmetics were too, of course. Me at the theater, me dancing at the Waldorf, my hair blowing at the top of the Empire State Building.
They told me I had potential; they could maybe even offer me a contract. But I wasn’t a model. And I wasn’t a New Yorker. I was a farm girl. I wanted to be a wife. Dan’s wife. And, as I had discovered on that trip, I wanted to be a student too. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to travel the world. I may never stand atop the Eiffel Tower or sit on the steps of the Great Pyramid of Giza. But I hadn’t been valedictorian of my class for nothing.
I had practically whispered to Dan over tea at the Plaza that I thought I might like to go to college. He had lit up b
righter than the chandeliers above us. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I’m going to college too.” His face fell and then it lit up again. “You should go to UNC. Gosh knows, you’re smart enough.”
I smiled into my tea even thinking about what Daddy would say if I told him I wanted to go to the University of North Carolina. “Dan, honestly, don’t you think that’s a little improper? I was assuming I’d go to Women’s College just like Lib did.” I knew Momma and Daddy wouldn’t like it, but they couldn’t very well pay for Lib to go to college and not do the same for me.
He shrugged. “But then we have to be apart. If you go to UNC, we can be together, we can get married.”
Married . . . It was that sweet thought that I held on to as I closed my eyes, preparing myself for what it was going to be like to be home again. I didn’t know what to expect when I walked through that door. Coldness. Screaming. The punishment to end all punishments. But, I reminded myself in my white gloves and best traveling suit, I am a grown woman now. I’m going to be married soon. What could they really do to me?
I walked through the door to silence. Complete, deathly silence. “Momma,” I called. “Daddy, I’m home.”
“In here,” came Momma’s voice from the kitchen.
She was standing by the stove, the radio droning in the background, her apron tied around her petite waist. Daddy was in his dinner chair, reading his paper.
“Hey, baby,” he said when I walked in, not bothering to get up.
“We’ve got fried chicken, okra and mashed potatoes for dinner,” Momma said. “Hope that suits.”
After weeks of the finest cuisine flown in from all over the world, I would like to say that my palate had become more sophisticated. But I was still a down-home girl at heart.
The cuckoo clock chimed from the dark, paneled den, and everything around me felt eerie, like the foreboding music in a picture before the murderer makes his kill. They didn’t ask about my trip, and I didn’t tell. It was as though I had walked down to the corner grocery for sliced bread and come back.
Lies and Other Acts of Love Page 9