by Robin Brande
The dog yipped and barked and frantically tried to jump closer to Eliza’s face. Eliza bent down to give the dog her proper dose of attention. Then she stood back up and looked around the upper floor.
“Place hasn’t fallen apart.”
“As if it would,” Hildy said. “You were only gone two months.”
“But I suppose you’d like a live-in maid now,” Eliza said. “And a cook, and a chauffeur, and a dog-walker...” She did her best to sound cheerful and light. She doubted she was fooling either of them.
In the beginning, as she’d packed to leave Hildy’s house in July, she’d been able to push away the guilt. She’d already done so much, Eliza reasoned—more than most daughters-in-law would probably do—and Hildy could get along without her for a while. Eliza would come back. It was only a few weeks. Then she could return refreshed and ready again.
The fact was, two weeks hadn’t been enough. Once she was home, Eliza realized how desperately she’d missed it. And how uncomplicated it was. Hildy seemed to be doing fine. There wasn’t any harm.
But always in the back of her mind, Eliza had dreaded a call just like this: Your mother-in-law is sick. She fell. She had a stroke. We found her dead...She didn’t used to feel so responsible when Ron was alive. Somehow just his being there in the house with Hildy, even if he wasn’t competent anymore, made Eliza feel like she could leave the two of them alone. If something happened, she could be there right away. But nothing was going to happen.
But ever since Ron had died, Eliza knew she was carrying the burden for two. Jamey would have wanted to take care of his mother, to look after her. Maybe he never would have moved back with her to Careyville, but he would have watched over her in some way, visited her often, maybe insisted she come stay with Eliza and him during the winters.
And Eliza would have said yes, of course. She loved Hildy as much as she loved her own mother. It’s just that her mother...didn’t need her like this. Not yet, anyway. Joyce was a dozen years younger—Jamey had been a late baby for Ron and Hildy. And seeing Hildy like this now, so battered and bruised, Eliza realized she’d been selfish for leaving the poor woman alone.
“I brought you some soup,” Eliza said, taking a grocery bag into the kitchen. “And a big, fat, decadent cookie from that place in the Syracuse airport.”
“Let me start with the cookie,” Hildy said. “I can eat that with my fingers.”
Eliza understood the comment as soon as she tried to help Hildy with her soup. The spoon jerked and jittered as Hildy fought to maneuver it with her non-dominant hand.
Finally they both gave up. “Got anything else?” Hildy asked.
“Bread, turkey. I can make you a sandwich.”
“That and a cup of tea and I’ll stop bothering you for the night.”
* * *
Eliza zipped open her suitcase and unloaded clothes to the closet and drawers. The room felt so familiar—she hadn’t really been away that long. When she returned to Jamey’s and her house, she felt like she’d been gone for a century. Everything looked old and abandoned. It took her days before she felt right in there again.
But this, she knew: the blue bedspread, the blue and white quilt hanging on the wall, the white lamp beside the bed, the shaggy white rug in the middle of the room. She had written some of her columns in here, and some of them out in the living room, or at the kitchen table, looking out on the yard. This house was fine for her, Eliza thought. She could live here until December, and even a little longer if Hildy needed.
But then, Eliza had already decided, she was going to suggest a change. The two of them needed a better, more permanent solution. Some sort of exchange program, where Eliza lived with Hildy part of the year, and Hildy lived with her the other. Two single women with two houses at their disposal should be able to come to some sort of workable arrangement.
It was just a matter of deciding which side of the country had the better weather for each season of the year. So far, Eliza was already planning on never spending another sticky, steamy summer in Careyville again.
And if as a result of her plan she occasionally had to run into David Walsh throughout various parts of the year, then so be it. He had been part of the reason she’d so selfishly run away, and it was something she felt ashamed of. It was time she grew up. Took care of her responsibilities. Remembered why she’d come to Careyville in the first place.
It wasn’t to get involved with a man. That part of her life was over.
29
Eliza cruised the aisles of the small grocery store near Hildy’s house. She looked for anything that didn’t require a knife, fork, or spoon. They were eating picnic style, Eliza had announced, no utensils allowed, until Hildy had the use of her hand back. Maybe the doctor would have wanted Hildy to try harder, but Hildy and Eliza both agreed, “Forget it.”
Eliza bought pita bread, hummus spread, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and avocados to make what she and Hildy were calling Salad in a Sandwich. It was something Hildy could eat with one hand without requiring a lot of coordination. Eliza also bought regular bread, peanut butter and jam, tuna, cheese, and lunch meats. She only hoped she wasn’t compromising an almost 70-year-old woman’s health by keeping her alive on sandwiches for a few months.
“Remember, it’s apple season!” a banner in front of the produce section announced, so Eliza stocked up on some of those, too. Then she checked out, loaded her bags in the back of the rental car the other driver’s insurance was paying for, and drove on to her next destination.
She hadn’t been in the bookstore for months. After her first visit there back when she’d first arrived, Eliza made a point of returning every few weeks. It was a way of easing into a new, unfamiliar life, hiding out among the familiar territory of bookshelves. Now Eliza returned to it simply to have a cup of good coffee and to do a little research.
And to rest.
Eliza had to admit that taking care of her mother-in-law was hard. It wasn’t that Hildy had a bad attitude—she didn’t. But some days her arm hurt, which made her cranky, and all days having the cast was inconvenient. It made it difficult for her to shower, to use the bathroom, to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. She was used to driving herself wherever she needed to go, cooking what she wanted to eat, never having to ask Eliza or anyone else to do those things for her.
“I want to go over to his house and throw a rock through his window,” Hildy had said that morning of the driver who rear-ended her. “I bet he sleeps like a baby.”
“No, I’m sure he lies awake feeling guilty for what he did,” Eliza answered. “He just hasn’t worked up the courage to send you flowers yet. They’re coming—we’ll just keep waiting.”
“Speaking of flowers,” Hildy said.
Eliza looked at her from the corner of her eye.
“Remember when Davey brought you those daisies?”
“They were from Ted.”
“I think you should call him up. Davey, I mean. Let him know you’re back.”
“No, thank you.”
“I think you’ve left him alone for long enough,” Hildy said. “He’s stewed on it, got it out of his system. Bet he misses you.”
“Hildy, just drop it.”
“Did I give you bad advice before?” She seemed genuinely dismayed. “Maybe you shouldn’t have listened to me. You should have gone over there and talked it out—”
“Hildy,” Eliza cautioned her. “Let it go. We’re not having this discussion now or ever. I came back for you, not for David.”
She meant to stop there, not to think the next few thoughts—and certainly not to say them. But her mouth continued moving.
“He could have called me. He didn’t. He could have written to me. He didn’t. You know how people are around here—he’s probably known I was back since last week. You didn’t give me bad advice—you were right. If he felt anything toward me except basic animal lust, he would have done something to keep me around. I’m sure I was a good time, until I
wasn’t. So that’s that. Just leave it.”
Daisy’s ears pricked up. She’d heard that command before.
Eliza let out a breath. Suddenly the house felt too small. She cleared her throat and tried to sound pleasant.
“I need to go shopping,” she said. “Would you like a tuna in your salad sandwich tonight?”
“Sounds great,” Hildy said, sounding equally, forcefully pleasant. “Thank you.”
Eliza smiled, then escaped to the car.
* * *
She browsed through the magazine aisle at the bookstore, picking out the current issues of every magazine that had ever bought her work. It was time to start pitching articles again. Magazines paid so much better than newspapers: Even the short quiz Eliza wrote for Adventure Girl at the beginning of the year earned her more than she’d made the past month from two rounds of her newspaper column.
But that wasn’t the only problem.
Eliza had been dipping into her Extras file more and more to come up with essays for her biweekly column. The truth was, she worried she was running out of things to say.
It was easy to try to inspire people, Eliza thought, when you were trying to inspire yourself. Say no. Be braver. Make a change. Write your book. So much of what she suggested to her readers were actually suggestions to herself.
But lately she was out of those ideas. Back in Henderson, she’d refined her life: Call your mom and go to a movie. Read another Shakespeare. Go the farmer’s market on Sunday. Make yourself a real dinner instead of having just salad and pretzels every night. Stop thinking about him.
There was nothing there to inspire anyone.
* * *
“Hiya, gorgeous,” Frank Sawyer said, “what happened to your hair?”
“I assume that means you like it.”
“Hair’s hair. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Eliza sank onto the newspaperman’s ancient leather couch. She thought of the first time she’d visited The Careyville Independent, dressed in her black pantsuit and crisp white shirt. Now she wore jeans and Jamey’s old UNLV sweatshirt. She imagined she made a different impression.
“So where you been, golden girl?”
“Here and there,” she said casually.
“Mostly there. Too long,” Frank added. “Glad you’re back.”
Eliza sighed. She flipped sideways along the length of Frank’s couch and stretched her feet out over the edge. She draped her arm over her eyes.
“That’s what you came for?” Frank said. “Take a nap on my couch?”
“I came for advice,” she said. “Then I might take a nap.”
* * *
“Two words,” Frank told her after she had poured out her most personal feelings about the work she’d been doing—and not doing—for the past two years. “Burned. Out,” he said. “See it all the time.”
“Have you ever been burned. Out?” she asked, parroting the way Frank said it.
“Sure, plenty of times,” he said. “But I kept going. Know why?”
“No.”
“Two words: Wife, child.”
Eliza sat up again, but still slouched into the soft couch. “I think I’ve lost it, Frank.”
He shrugged. “I like what you write. I’ll still keep publishing you.”
“Would you ever tell me if you think something I’ve written is garbage?”
“Sure I would.”
She straightened up with interest. “Would you really? You’re not just saying that?”
“Shepherd,” Frank said. “I’ve been in this business a long time. I’ve written plenty of garbage myself. But when I’ve written something worth a Pulitzer, I know it. Maybe no one else knows it, but I do. And that’s what keeps me doing it. The hope that after I write a hundred pieces of garbage, I’ll write one shiny diamond I can stick on top. That’s what I saw when I read your stuff: a shiny diamond. So you just keep writing, and I’ll tell you when you’ve lost it.”
Eliza smiled with genuine relief. “I’m trusting you, Frank.”
“Turn in your next column on time and I’ll tell you if it stinks.”
* * *
He hadn’t asked her about her love life, Eliza realized. She’d felt so tired and defeated when she got to Frank’s office, she’d forgotten to even worry about it.
He used to ask her about Ted all the time. She hadn’t been with David long enough, she supposed, for Frank to hear about it.
As Eliza drove home, she thought about what he’d said. She knew what he meant about feeling proud about something you’d written, even if no one saw that it was good but you. She’d felt that way many times, usually about articles she and Jamey had written together. They played off each other so well, raised each other’s game. They made good money in those days—enough to finance Jamey’s endless hunt for adventure.
But she also knew what it felt like to write garbage. And no matter what Frank said, Eliza knew she was slipping. She needed to try harder. Go back to some of the tricks that had helped her in the past: Reading more. Getting out more. Interacting with people so she had someone else’s stories to tell besides just her own. People were tired of hearing about Eliza Shepherd—she was tired of it. She needed fresh material.
As Eliza turned into the neighborhood, she couldn’t help looking toward David’s house. She couldn’t see it from the road, but she could see one of the streets he might have taken if he’d been leaving just now.
Pathetic, she thought. Just like at the bookstore.
She’d sat in the bookstore café, drinking coffee and paging through magazines, and only half her mind had been on her job.
The other half had been on him.
She kept glancing at the door, even though she didn’t want to, imagining him walking in the way he had after she’d first met him, after they’d had that run-in over the dogs. She’d tried to hide from him then. Would she do that now? Slip down in her chair, hold a magazine over her face, and hope he simply passed by?
Or would she acknowledge him, nod to him, even put out her hand as he came over and say, “It’s nice to see you again”?
Would he even come over? Or would he take one look at her and turn around and leave? He was capable of it—she’d seen him do it before. He never seemed to mind what people might think.
She’d spent nearly an hour in that condition, trying to focus on her research, watching the door, taking notes from a masthead, watching the door.... It was maddening. Stupid. Painful.
She returned all the magazines to the rack without buying a single one. She was there to figure out how to make more money, not to spend it. She tossed her coffee cup in the trash and pushed out through the door he might have come in. On another day. In another life.
Her car had found its way into The Careyville Independent parking lot without her really planning to go there. But she wasn’t ready to see Hildy again, when she was feeling so low and insecure. That house had enough misery in it at the moment without Eliza dragging any more inside. She’d planned on just a quick visit with Frank, a chance to say, “Hi, I’m back,” and it had turned into a therapy session. But he didn’t seem to mind. And maybe, Eliza thought, it had helped.
She’d start getting out again—right away. Go visit Carolyn and Katie, see what the Girls’ Club was up to. There might be a column there. Maybe go apple picking—she’d seen an advertisement for a U-Pik-It farm in the pile of papers on Frank’s desk. Maybe write something seasonal, something that would appeal to readers in Careyville and Anchorage and Henderson.
Where was he? Eliza caught herself thinking. She was bound to run into him. And then what? What would she say?
Might as well get it over with, Eliza thought. Right away. Put herself where she knew he’d find her. And then get all the ugliness out of the way at once.
The weather was cool enough. It was time to start walking Daisy again. Up along the hill.
30
Definitely here in the fall, Eliza thought. She could see her breath as she
and Daisy made their way up the hill at the end of the street. She had noticed the maples before—they’d already starting turning before she arrived back—but for some reason this morning they seemed especially red, especially vibrant. When she and Hildy worked out their bicoastal life—something Eliza still hadn’t mentioned to her mother-in-law, but would soon, she thought—she’d definitely want to be back here by late September, early October. Be in position to watch the birches turn yellow, the maples turn red. Henderson had one color during every season: brown. She could understand now why people might endure a summer up here if this was their reward at the end.
Her heart beat too fast. She paused along the path and took a breath. She might see him this morning, she might not. She tried not to overplan it. She wanted to sound natural. “Oh, hi... Okay, see you...” She hoped she could pull it off. She hoped she could get it over with and not have to go through this tomorrow, too, or even worse, for the next few days.
Eliza unzipped the top of her jacket. She wasn’t as cold as she’d been leaving the house. The day should warm up nicely, she thought, and if she could just get over this one, awkward obstacle, she and Daisy could come up here every morning and enjoy long walks again before Eliza started her day.
She had other things to think about, not just David. When she’d returned home from shopping yesterday and from visiting Frank, she found Hildy just finishing a phone call.
“Okay, thanks, hon. I’ll let you know.”
She hung up the receiver and looked at Eliza. Smiling in her most conciliatory way.
“That was the girl at Walsh’s,” Hildy said.
“Oh?” Eliza tried to seem unconcerned as she unpacked the groceries.
“Good news: She said there are already twenty-two people signed up for my October fifth class.”
“Twenty-two, wow,” Eliza said, trying to sound cheerful. But something about Hildy’s tone made her suspicious. “That’s great. Congratulations.”