"Don't be silly," Melissa told her. "You wouldn't be stuck in that chair all the time. You'd be able to get around by yourself."
"I'm bored with the subject," Alma said gruffly. "I hope you brought your papers home for me to read, Melissa."
"I forgot. I'll bring them at Christmas. You'll have three weeks to go over them and argue with the grades the professors've given me. My aunt," she told Bobby and Charlie, "never agrees with my grades. She thinks my professors are all morons. And Mom," she went on with a laugh, "starts editing them, pointing out my run-on sentences and dangling participles. It's bad enough getting it at school without coming home to the resident critics." She shook her head and helped herself to the candied yams, saying, "Good grub, Mom."
Bobby swallowed some of the savory stuffing and said, "It's very good," and was rewarded with a smile from Eva. Their eyes held for a moment, then Bobby looked away, wondering where Joe was and what he was doing. He'd probably be at his mother's place, the two of them eating in silence, hating each other. She was intensely grateful not to have to be there, not to have to breathe in the thick risky air. Eight years of Thanksgiving and Christmas meals she'd choked down with Joe and his mother, making a tremendous effort to be pleasant, pretending nothing was wrong. Two days of suffering every year, on top of the ordinary days of anticipating blame and blows. It hadn't been a month yet but she felt as if she'd been away from Joe for a very long time. For the first time in years there were no bruises on her body, no aching tender spots that jabbed her into wakefulness when she tried to turn over in her sleep. She didn't have to be constantly on her guard, fearful of saying or doing something that would trigger an explosion. She was in the midst of clever, friendly people, being treated like part of the family. She was anxious to demonstrate her gratitude and once the meal was ended she immediately rose to begin clearing the dishes.
Eva said, "Don't bother," but Melissa got up, too, saying, "You sit and relax, Mom. You did the cooking. Bobby and I will clean up."
"Me too," Penny chimed in, climbing off her chair, insisting Melissa give her something to carry.
Eva reached for her wine and watched the three of them push through the swing door into the kitchen. She was intrigued by Melissa's reaction to Penny. For some reason she hadn't expected her to be as taken as she was with the child. It was a new aspect to her daughter, another in an endless series of revelations. Melissa was no longer a predictable child but an autonomous woman. Her views had been widening, deepening since her first week of college. Their time apart had been very good for Melissa; she had acquired her own set of values, had honed her perceptions, and somehow turned the tables so that she now had more of a fix on her mother than Eva had on her. Eva had to admit Melissa had also acquired an impressive skill in handling her, and she wondered if all children eventually came to know their parents better than the parents knew them. Certainly as a child, Eva's every move had been predictable to Alma; she'd exercised an almost mystical comprehension of the inner workings of Eva's mind. And now Eva felt much of the time as if she could transcribe her aunt's thoughts merely by watching her facial expressions. Granted, since the stroke, it had become more difficult, transcribing as it were only half of her face. It had to do with familiarity, Eva thought, and with long-term exposure to all of someone's moods. And that only occurred within a family environment. In every other situation, people were performing to a lesser or greater extent, usually in the hope of ingratiating themselves. Under the table Charlie's hand stroked her knee, breaking her train of thought, and she turned to look at him. She loved his face, and tried for a moment to recall precisely when he'd become so important to her.
"Delicious meal, cupcake."
"Thank you," she said, relishing the weight of his hand and its gentle motion. There hadn't been a specific time, she thought. Very gradually he'd become an emotional focal point, as important to her in his own way as Melissa and Alma were in theirs. It was intriguing the way one's emotions could expand. They were pliant, adaptable, perplexing, and often ungovernable.
"First rate, Eva," her aunt said, with knowing eyes, so that Eva had to wonder if she knew what Charlie was doing.
"Bobby made the dessert," Eva said, made languid by the wine. Let her aunt enjoy her vicarious thrill, she thought. There was little enough she enjoyed these days. Eva wished she knew what she could say or do to bring back the Aunt Alma who'd been her mother, the rather glamorous, always active Alma who'd had to keep track of her commitments in a large diary. The woman who sat facing her now at the far end of the table had Alma's intelligence but none of her energy or direction. It grieved her to witness her aunt's ongoing frustration and anger. The only relief in a year had come through Penny, and through Bobby. Eva could see that Bobby offered the same sort of challenge that Alma's students once had, and in small ways she was rising to the challenge. In cultivating what she viewed as Bobby's potential, Alma was finding a reason for surviving each day. Eva felt suddenly very glad of Bobby, and wondered if she hadn't had too much to drink. A glass or two of something alcoholic and she had a tendency to become very emotional. And very amorous, too. She wanted to bury her face in Charlie's neck and breathe in the warm fragrance of his cologne.
"I take it she and Dennis are dating," Charlie said quietly.
"I don't know that I'd call it dating," Eva said. "She's afraid of her own shadow. But he's harmless. They've gone out a couple of times."
"It's doing her good," Alma put in. "She needs to learn to trust people, and Dennis is certainly trustworthy."
"The little girl's adorable," Charlie said. "Smart as a whip. And Mel seems to be thriving at school."
"She loves it," Eva said. "She's already talking about graduate school, although she has no idea what she wants to do."
"Mark my words," Alma said. "She'll wind up a writer."
Eva laughed. "She thinks it's a dismal occupation. She's convinced I'm socially retarded because I spend my working days alone. She claims she'd rather do anything else."
“You are socially retarded," Alma said. "And she will wind up writing. It's all there. She has an indisputable gift."
"Don't say that in front of her," Eva cautioned. "You'll set her off. She'll go on for an hour about my pointless optimism and my perennial disappointment; she'll recite from memory every negative thing I've ever said about being a writer."
Penny came skipping in, asking, "What else?"
Eva gave her one of the smaller serving dishes and said, "Walk with it, Pen."
Penny turned sedately and walked very slowly to the door.
Charlie laughed and squeezed Eva's knee. Eva smiled at him, feeling pleasantly warm and slightly aroused. She moved her leg so that it was touching his. Her limbs felt wonderfully heavy and she looked at Charlie's mouth, feeling a jab of lust in the base of her belly. She wanted to slide under the table and pull him down after her. Picturing it, she smiled to herself. She was able to imagine herself performing all sorts of lewd acts but in reality was incapable of more than a bit of innocent, clandestine knee touching. Why was there such a dichotomy between one's fantasies and one's actual capabilities?
Alma watched the two of them, suddenly terribly envious, missing her own life. A year ago she'd been someone else, active and on the go, still seeing men; she'd even slept with Bill Fitzgerald the week before the stroke. She hadn't felt or looked her age, and had believed it was her God-given right to go on being a fully functioning female, perhaps even into her eighties. She'd been seeing Bill on a fairly regular basis for close to two years, and she'd been more than fond of him. Then she'd awakened one morning as someone else, someone impaired and irrevocably altered. She'd awakened thinking she must've slept on her arm, and she'd tried to lift it, to shake the blood back into circulation. The horror had overcome her as the minutes had passed and the arm refused to move at her command; it had been compounded by her inability to leave her bed, and had been doubled and doubled again in the aftermath. But the ultimate horror had been the sight of
her own face.
Bill had come once to see her in the hospital and had never returned. She didn't blame him; she was, in fact, glad. The horror he couldn't quite conceal had merely confirmed her own feelings. She'd become grotesque, a gargoyle on wheels. Now she couldn't see the point to life. She was merely biding her time, getting through the hours until another stroke or heart attack put an end to her. She wished she had the courage to do away with the monstrosity she'd become. But she didn't. Something—a lingering curiosity, perhaps, or an intrinsic tenacity—kept her holding on to a useless existence. Right then she wanted to shout at Eva and Charlie, to order them to behave in a more seemly fashion. And yet, what were they doing after all? They were simply physically aware of each other. But now that she herself was considerably less of a woman, she found herself irritated and faintly sickened by Eva's still healthy sexuality. It took some effort to contain her disdain, to relocate the mother love she'd had for so long for this woman who'd been her child. And then, having managed to contain herself, she was appalled by her meanness of spirit. Eva was still young. She deserved to have someone to love. She hadn't had an easy life. In the kitchen, Bobby was making the coffee and organizing the dessert while Melissa rinsed the dishes and Penny put them into the dishwasher.
"You've very sweet to my aunt," Melissa told Bobby. "The others all treated her … professionally, kind of. But you're so patient and natural with her. I can tell how much she likes you."
"I like her," Bobby said quietly.
"I can see that," Melissa said. "You been a nurse long?"
"I'm not a real nurse."
"No kidding! You seem more like one than the rest of them. They all acted as if looking after my aunt was too much trouble. It was interfering with their lives."
"That's what Dennis said."
"So?" Melissa grinned. "Are you two an item, or what?"
Abashed, Bobby said, "We're just friends."
"Well, that's cool. He's a sweetie, Dennis." Seeing that the subject was making the woman uncomfortable, Melissa said, "You make the pies?"
"Uh-hunh."
"I thought so. Mom can't make pastry. She used to make quiche and she had to put the dough right in the pan and push it into shape with her hands. It tasted all right but it was always thick and lumpy. So, how're you making out with her anyway?"
"Oh, okay," Bobby said carefully.
"She can be tough," Melissa said objectively, trying to see her mother through Bobby's eyes. "But don't let her scare you. Half the time she's wandering around in a daze, her mind on the latest book. You can talk to her and it seems as if she's listening, but she's not really there. She's off in space, fitting things together. Sometimes it's as if the writing's more real to her than we are. Then, all of a sudden, she'll click back in, and she's completely different. You can actually see it happen. The thing is, she's okay, really, and basically very fair. She can just be kind of schizzy sometimes. What's amazing about her is, if you ask her something, she'll be totally, one hundred percent truthful, doesn't hold anything back. My friends were always hanging around our place when we lived in the city, having coffee and talking with my mom, because she was one of the few parents who'd give you straight answers to whatever you wanted to know. When I was about thirteen, it embarrassed the hell out of me. But now I can see how cool she really was. Hey, Pen! Good girl. We're all done." She bent down, grabbed Penny under the arms and swung her around. Penny giggled happily.
"It's hard to know how she's going to be from one day to the next," Bobby said, admiring Melissa's easy way with Pen.
"Tell me about it!" Melissa said, setting Penny down. "I never know what'll set her off. She's been a lot more mellow since she started seeing Charlie, though. Isn't he a honey? I'd kill to meet a guy like that. Most of the guys at school are so young. They make me feel positively middle-aged."
Bobby laughed at this.
"No, I'm serious," Melissa said. "There are a couple who're pretty cool but most of them are … adolescent. I don't know. At the rate I'm going I'll never get married."
"Would you like to?"
"Uh-hunh. I'd like to have a bunch of kids."
Bobby picked up the tray of cups and saucers, saying, "I'm sure you will."
"I don't know," Melissa said, handing Penny the sugar bowl. "I'm almost too discriminating. And intelligent women scare the crap out of men. Have you noticed that?"
"I wouldn't know," Bobby said.
"Oh, you must," Melissa insisted. "After all, you're intelligent. Haven't you found that men run for the hills?"
"I wouldn't know," Bobby said again softly.
Melissa gazed at her for a moment, then, realizing she'd just unwittingly stepped into uncertain territory, let the matter drop. "Well, anyway," she said, consciously moving onto safer ground, "I'm glad at least Mom's got herself someone like Charlie, who doesn't scare easily." She reached for the coffeepot, saying, "Let's get in there and have some of that pie. It looks fantastic."
When it came time, Penny didn't want to go to bed.
"It's a holiday," she said. "I wanna stay up."
"It's already past your bedtime, Pen," Bobby said quietly.
"Tell you what!" Melissa said. "How about if I put you to bed?"
"Yes!" Penny cried. "You put me to bed."
"Okay with you?" Melissa asked Bobby.
"Sure, if you don't mind."
"It'll be good practice," Melissa said, scooping Penny up and carrying her off over her shoulder.
"You gotta give me a bath," Penny was saying as they went.
"She's gone positively wild over Melissa," Alma observed, looking up from the game of chess she was playing with Charlie. "Seems like it," Bobby agreed. "I think you've got me in a trap here," Charlie said, having studied the
board for several minutes. "Admit defeat," Alma said with a gruff chuckle. "I want to go up now. I'm tired." "You didn't get your nap today," Eva said from the fireplace where she was lazily poking at the burning wood.
"I'm well aware of that," Alma snapped.
"I concede," Charlie said.
"It's as well that you do," Alma said. "A move in any direction and I'd have had you." "Would you like anything before you go up?" Eva asked as Charlie began clearing the board and returning the pieces to their box.
"Not a thing," Alma said. "Come give me a kiss."
Eva crossed the room and embraced her aunt, murmuring, "You know you love me." "Yes, I do," Alma admitted. "I'm just tired." Bobby had put aside her knitting and stood at the ready by the wheel
chair as Charlie thanked Alma for the game and bent to kiss her good night. "Thank you for including me today." "It's always a pleasure to see you outside that damned office," Alma told him, then signaled to Bobby that she was ready to go. When Bobby came downstairs half an hour or so later, Melissa was alone
in the living room, smoking a cigarette.
"Mom and Charlie went for a walk," she said. "I hope you don't mind. I pinched one of your Marlboros."
"I don't mind." Bobby put away her knitting. "Thanks for putting Pen to bed. She give you any trouble?"
"Nope. She read me a story," Melissa said, grinning, "then I tucked her in and that was that. She's a sweetheart. I'm going to finish my smoke and head on up myself. I'm wiped."
"I'll go down, then," Bobby said. "Thanks again for looking after Pen.”
In the apartment kitchen, Bobby sat down at the table and lit a cigarette, feeling rarely contented. It had been the best Thanksgiving since her childhood.
Twenty-Two
Melissa dreamed she was small again and she and her mom were on their way from the city to spend a weekend with Aunt Alma. It was spring and the Connecticut countryside was brilliant with color—blossoming dogwood trees in pink and white, azaleas of hot pink and orange and red, wisteria and lilac, tulips. Melissa looked out the car window, entranced. She always forgot how nice it was outside the city, how the air smelled better and people were friendlier.
Her mom had a small typew
riter on her lap and was typing with one hand and steering the car with the other. Melissa wondered how she could do that and for a few moments watched her mother's fingers moving over the keyboard. Her mom wrote books and sometimes when her friends came over for dinner she would read them something she'd just written and her friends would sit quietly and listen. Melissa would hear her from her bedroom and think it was like being in school with the teacher reading out loud to the class. But her mom's friends got excited and they all started talking over each other the minute her mom finished reading.
Melissa thought writing books was a strange thing to do, not really work like other grown-ups did; it was just typing, but her mom did it all the time, even when they were driving somewhere in the car. "How come you're doing that now?" Melissa asked, annoyed, and her mother looked over and said, "I have to get this finished." Melissa turned to gaze out the window, thinking that writing was dumb and boring. You couldn't even talk to someone when they were doing it. They were getting near to Aunt Alma's house; she saw houses, streets she recognized.
Her aunt was in the back garden when they arrived, talking to some man who was building a high wall around the house. Melissa ran to give her a hug, asking, "How come you're building a wall?" and her aunt said, "There's too much light."
"But we won't be able to get to the beach," Melissa said, very bothered by the bricks and bags of cement on the lawn.
"There'll be a door," her aunt said.
Melissa's mother came across the grass carrying her typewriter in one hand and a big stack of papers in the other. She looked very angry, and said, "Where am I supposed to work if you do this?" And Aunt Alma said, "There's more to life than writing. Don't you ever put that damned machine down?"
They were going to argue and Melissa didn't want to hear, so she went into the house and saw that there were dolls sitting all along the counter. Excited, hoping this was a surprise intended for her, she went to pick one
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