"What attracted you to this man in the first place?" Alma asked.
"I don't know. He's real ... really good-looking. And he was older, you know. I thought I was special 'cause he chose me."
"Women always think that," Alma said with faint disgust. "We make ourselves special. No one else does that for us."
"I guess not." Bobby wrung out the washcloth, draped it over the towel rail, then sat on the side of the tub with her feet in the water. "Hair-washing time," she said, bracing her knees to bear the old woman's weight. "You sure do have nice hair," she said, adjusting the water temperature on the hand shower.
"Thank you."
There was a pause, then both women laughed.
Bobby looked at the check and said, "You paid me too much."
"No," Eva said. "You worked Tuesday through Sunday. That's a full week. And if you really don't mind working Sundays, I'll pay you three hundred for the week."
"I really don't mind," Bobby said, carefully folding the check and putting it in her pocket. It was the most money she'd ever been paid in her life.
"You'll want to set some aside to cover your taxes at the end of the year."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Please," Eva said impatiently. "Call me Eva."
"Okay."
"My aunt's appointment is at ten-thirty. We should be back by twelve-thirty at the latest, depending on the traffic on the turnpike. If you have errands to do, you might as well do them while we're gone."
"I was thinking I'd go to the bank."
"Whatever," Eva said, as if Bobby's plans were of no interest to her. She took a leg of lamb from the freezer and set it in a pan to defrost.
"You need anything from the supermarket?" Bobby asked, wondering what she'd done to make this woman dislike her.
"No, thanks."
"Okay. You want me to bring Alma down now?"
Eva checked the time and said, "Might as well. Thanks."
"I do something wrong?" Bobby asked, the pulse in her throat suddenly throbbing.
Caught off guard, Eva looked over and said, "No. Why?"
"I was thinking I must've done something to make you mad."
Angry with herself for not concealing her irritation, Eva said, "No. I apologize if I've given that impression. You shouldn't take things so personally." That was a stupid thing to say, Eva thought. Of course she'd take it personally. "What I mean is … " What did she mean?
"It's hard, people living together," Bobby said, trying to help. "Folks get on each other's nerves. If I'm doing something wrong, you should tell me."
"You're not doing anything wrong," Eva said, completely unprepared for this confrontation. "As I've said before, I get distracted."
"I know you work real hard," Bobby said, "all those hours you spend in your office. But the thing is, I like your aunt real well, and we seem to be getting on good together. I'd like to be getting on good with you, too."
Eva resisted the temptation to correct her. It was not the time to play English teacher. "I'm used to running my own household," she explained. "The past year has been a big change, for Alma and for me. There are times when it's hard to take."
"I can understand that."
"Sometimes, as much as I love my aunt, the situation makes me angry."
"It gets you down," Bobby said.
"That's right."
"It gets her down, too."
"Yes, it does," Eva concurred.
"The way I see it, my job's to make it easier for the both of you. And I'm happy to do that. Like I said, I'm getting real fond of your aunt."
"Yes," Eva said. "I can tell."
"So if you don't like me," Bobby went on, "it makes me feel bad. Because I like you. You've been real good to me'n Pen, taking us in, giving me this job. What I'm saying is, it'd be better if you came right out and said what's bothering you, so I could try to fix it. It makes me worry when you're acting mad at me and I don't know why."
"You've done nothing wrong," Eva said. "And I'd tell you if you had. I know I'm abrupt and distant at times. Try to ignore it. It really has nothing to do with you."
"Okay," Bobby said, thinking they were ending up right where they'd started, with nothing settled or any clearer than before. "I'll try to do that. I'd better go up and get your aunt now."
"Thank you."
Bobby left, her hands shaking, heart pounding. She'd never talked that way to anyone. But she'd had to do it. She couldn't stand the idea that Eva was finding fault with her, that Eva didn't like her. At any other time she'd have kept silent, the way she did with Joe when he started in on her. This time, though, she simply couldn't. It was too important. She wanted to be able to stay, therefore she had to be clear on where she stood.
Eva held on to the counter, feeling as if she'd just run a race, and lost. She hadn't expected Bobby to be so candid, and she respected her for it. But there seemed to be no way Eva could explain that her coldness was because of Deborah, because of things that had happened almost fifteen years ago; events that didn't necessarily have any bearing on anything that was going on in this house.
"Are you doing the exercises?" Charlie asked.
"They're a waste of time," Alma said flatly.
"They are not a waste of time," he disagreed. "You have some mobility in that left leg. If you worked at it, you could strengthen the muscles to the point where you might be able to get around with the aid of a walker."
"I have no interest in getting around with a walker, thank you."
"You've got a lousy attitude," Charlie said, smiling. "How are you feeling otherwise?"
"I'm alive. That's something, I suppose."
"That's a great deal," he said. "It could've been far worse."
"You have a talent for stating the obvious," she said accusingly.
His smile grew wider and he said, "I understand you've got a new nurse. How's it working out?"
"She's a damned sight better than the others," Alma said. "I suppose Eva told you this one has a child."
"So I hear."
"The child is a joy," Alma said, softening. "A positive joy." Trying to sound offhand and failing, she said, "She calls me Granny, for God's sake."
"You love it," he said.
"Do something for me."
"What?"
"Encourage Eva to give up writing that commercial rubbish and get back to serious work."
"I can't tell her what to do, Alma."
"You have influence," she said. "Use it."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not my place. Because I don't want to say or do anything that'Il affect the status quo. It's Eva's decision. It seems to satisfy a need she has."
"A need to play martyr. I have more than enough money to pay for everything."
"She feels obligated."
"That's nonsense," Alma said heatedly.
"Tell that to Eva."
"She won't hear it."
"There's really nothing I can do," he said. "Maybe you'll just have to accept the gesture and learn to live with it. So, my dear, if there's nothing else, I've got to be moving on. I'll see you in two weeks. And do those exercises!"
"Go on and see to your other patients," she said with disgust.
"You knew I'd never agree to it, Alma," he said fondly with a hand on her shoulder. "I give you points, though, for trying."
"All men are useless," she said, her squared chin outthrust.
He laughed and kissed her cheek. "I'll send Eva in to help you dress," he said, and went out.
"Useless," Alma muttered, grabbing her blouse and trying without success to get it on.
After the bank, Bobby stopped at the bookstore in the shopping center to buy Pen a new copy of her favorite storybook. She looked at the display of newly released paperbacks, spotting several she'd have liked to read. But she didn't dare spend any of her money on such a luxury; she might wind up needing every penny if things didn't work out with the job. Maybe she'd join the local library. In Ja
mestown she had gone every couple of weeks, and she was used to having books to read.
After the bookstore she looked at the clothes in the children's store. There was a blue party dress she knew Pen would love, but it was way too expensive. She wondered how people could afford to spend ninety-five dollars for a dress a child would only wear a few times before she outgrew it. But it sure was pretty, with hand-done smocking, a full skirt, and puffy sleeves. She could just see Pen in it, with white stockings and shiny new Mary Janes. Reluctantly, she left the rack of dresses and had a look at the everyday stuff.
She selected a pair of Oshkosh overalls and some underwear for Pen and carried the items to the counter, where she waited for one of the saleswomen to serve her. Opening her new, temporary checkbook, she wrote out a check.
"I'll need a driver's license and a credit card," the saleswoman told her.
Bobby handed over her New York State license, saying, "I don't have a credit card."
"I can't accept an out-of-state license," the woman said, frowning at Bobby's license.
"But it's valid … "
"I'm sorry," the woman said firmly, handing back the license.
Feeling suddenly as if everyone in the store were staring at her, Bobby quickly counted the money in her wallet. She didn't have enough cash. Embarrassed, her face hot, she said, "You could call the bank. They'd tell you I've got enough in the account."
"If we had to do that every time someone wanted to write a check, we'd spend all our time on the phone," the saleswoman said irritably. "Do you want these things or not?"
"I do want them," Bobby said softly, hearing an echo of Joe's voice shouting how stupid she was, how incapable she was of doing the simplest things right. But that's not true, she defended herself. She could do all kinds of things, and this was one of them. "I'll go to the bank and cash a check," she told the woman, who shrugged, reaching around Bobby to take an outfit another woman was waiting to buy. "Will you hold these things until I get back?"
"They'll be here," the saleswoman said. Then, smiling brightly at the customer she was serving, she added, "It's not as if there's a big rush today on Oshkosh overalls."
Humiliated, Bobby said, "I'll be back," and hurried out of the store.
There was a line at the bank, and she had to wait ten minutes to get to one of the tellers. The whole time she kept telling herself it was no big deal, she'd get the cash and go back to the store, pay for Pen's stuff, and that'd be that. But she kept hearing Joe's voice telling her how stupid she was and she had to fight down a desire to forget the whole thing and go on home. She hated the idea of facing that snotty saleswoman again, but she'd do it. And until things were settled one way or another, she'd carry enough cash to pay for whatever she wanted. Once she knew for sure they'd be staying, she'd get a Connecticut license, and by then she'd have properly printed checks and no one would give her a hard time when she wanted to buy something. I'm not stupid, she told herself. She just wished she weren't so bothered by the incident.
By the time she got back to the children's store, she was geared up to deal with the bitchy saleswoman, but another, friendly woman found the underwear and overalls and accepted Bobby's money with a smile and a "Thank you. Come again."
It was almost noon when she arrived back at the house. The garage door was still open, the van not back. After taking her purchases downstairs, she decided to make herself useful and prepare the lunch. Eva had said at the start that Bobby should do it, but every day so far she was there in the kitchen making the lunch when Bobby came in to do it. This was Bobby's first chance to do it herself. She knew Ruby didn't stop to eat, so it was just food for three. She had a pot of vegetable soup simmering on the stove and a platter of tuna salad sandwiches ready by the time she heard the van pulling into the driveway.
Bobby held the back door open as Eva pushed the chair up the ramp, and said, "I'll take over, if you like."
"You made lunch?" Eva said, taking in the set table and the platter of sandwiches.
Oh, Lord, Bobby thought. She was going to take offense. "You told me I should," she said quietly.
"That's right, I did. I'd forgotten," Eva said, touched. Not one of the previous nurses had even a small degree of Bobby's conscience. When they'd seen Eva making lunches after she'd said they were expected to do it, they'd simply assumed there'd been a change of plans and let her go on doing it. And, out of habit, Eva had. "Thank you, Bobby," she said with a pleased smile.
"You're welcome." Relieved, Bobby helped Alma out of her coat. "How was your doctor's visit?" she asked.
"A waste of time, as always," Alma growled.
"He wants her to do her exercises," Eva said.
"We'll do them this afternoon," Bobby promised.
"The hell we will!" Alma barked.
"We'll do them after lunch," Bobby insisted. "I've got them all written down."
"Charlie and I both think you should stop writing that rubbish and get back to serious work," Alma pounced on her niece.
Eva emitted a disbelieving laugh. "He said nothing of the sort."
"He most certainly did!'
"You're blowing smoke," Eva said, carrying their coats to the front hall closet. "What he probably said was he wouldn't discuss it with you."
"He thinks you're wasting your time and talent," Alma said as she drove her chair to the table.
Bemused, Bobby followed this exchange, trying to make sense of it.
"You've been meddling," Eva said, getting bowls from the cupboard.
"I did my best," Alma said.
Laughing again, Eva began ladling soup into the bowls, saying, "Leave us both alone. I'm doing what I want to do."
"You loathe it, and it's changing you," Alma said. "Since you started writing those books you've become hardened in a way that doesn't suit you."
"That is not true," Eva argued, but had to wonder if her aunt hadn't actually scored a bull's-eye. "Besides, you weren't around to know what I was like when I was working on the other books."
"I saw you often enough to know you were happy. The only time you're happy now is after you've spent a few hours in bed with Charlie."
Eva blushed, exclaiming, "My God!" and looked to see how Bobby was responding to all this. Bobby kept her eyes lowered and fiddled with her spoon. "Why don't you take out a full-page ad in the Advocate?”
"Charlie," Alma said to Bobby, "is my doctor and Eva's inamorato."
"What's that?" Bobby asked, not sure she wanted to be drawn into this argument or whatever it was.
"We see each other socially," Eva said.
"Oh!" Bobby smiled and risked looking at Eva, who was still red in the face and visibly flustered. "That's nice."
Eva looked at the younger woman and saw only sincerity, even approval. "Yes, it is nice," Eva said, and then felt herself helplessly grinning. The amorphous animosity she'd had toward Bobby was suspended for a moment, and she was able to view her as a friend. "It is very nice," she stated, her eyes on Bobby, who smiled and reached to lift the platter, asking, "Want a sandwich?"
"Yes, thank you," Eva said, deciding there and then that Bobby would be staying. "These look good."
"It's my Aunt Helen's recipe," Bobby said, sensing there'd been a change. "She uses a tablespoon of vinegar along with the mayonnaise. I hope you like it."
"I'm sure we will," Eva said.
Picking up on the changed atmosphere, Alma decided to let the matter of Eva's writing drop, and helped herself to half a sandwich. She was well aware that Eva had conflicting emotions about Bobby and wished she knew why. She'd never seen Eva behave quite the way she did with this gentle little creature, and the only clue Eva herself had so far offered was the reference to Bobby's reminding her of Deborah. An oblique reference at best, in view of the fact that Eva had spared Alma the finer details of what had happened on the island that summer. Eva had been so distraught when she returned that Alma had chosen to leave her be, deciding she'd talk about it in due course. But, aside from revealing th
e bare bones of the matter, Eva never had. Curious, Alma thought, looking first at Bobby and then at her niece, both of whom had their eyes on their plates. For the first time in years, Alma wondered what it was Eva hadn't told her.
Eleven
Almost compulsively now, Eva was remembering Montaverde. A pattern had evolved. Each night she'd have monstrous monochromatic dreams from which she'd awaken feeling weakened and afraid. Then she'd lie still for a time, reviewing her weeks on the island.
Tonight she was recalling one afternoon in particular when the heat was so intense that the children had fallen asleep together on the two-seater out on the veranda. She paced back and forth in the living room waiting for Deborah and Ian to get back. They were in town, seeing government officials about some permits having to do with the house they were attempting to build. In the two weeks Eva had been there, not a lick of work had been done on the site.
She wanted to take Mellie and get on the first flight out. New York had an entirely new appeal after these two long weeks on the island. And she thought longingly, constantly now, of going with Mellie to spend a few weeks with Alma in the calm of Connecticut. She paced, waiting, her shirt wet with perspiration and clinging to her back. She was desperate to get away from what was going on inside this house. Deborah seemed to have evolved into someone she'd never known, someone who bore no resemblance to the woman who'd been her closest friend in England. This other Deborah was unapproachable, grimly silent, in a state of permanent rage—primarily over the lack of progress on the house, for which, however arbitrarily, she blamed Ian. Only at moments—when she paused to place a loving hand on her little boy's head, or she appeared briefly to remember Eva and there was a flash of her dazzling smile—was Deborah familiar. Yet Eva was convinced there had to be something she personally could say or do to help. Each day she hoped that Deborah would provide the opportunity for a dialogue. She couldn't believe Deborah didn't want to talk as badly as she did. She had to want Eva's help. Why else had she invited her to come? Yet she didn't give the slightest hint that she had any interest in discussing her problems. Every time Eva approached her to say, "Let me give you a hand with this or that," Deborah would look up distractedly and say, "No, darling. But thank you for offering."
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