by David Lewis
Why do I feel so alone?
When he reached Palmer Lake, he considered turning around. It was only seven, and he’d been driving around for an hour. Instead, he continued on Highway 105 to Monument, stopping at a greasy spoon for breakfast. After eggs and hashbrowns, he read the Sunday paper for an hour, sipping coffee refills.
Long about eight-thirty, he decided to go to his old childhood church, just down the street, if for no other reason than for something to do. Who knows? he thought. Maybe I’ll see someone I know.
Jessie …
Jessie opened her eyes. The frilly see-through curtains billowed in the slight breeze, cooling her face. Early dawn was breaking through. Had she slept at all?
Jessie …
She held her head up, holding the sheet to her chest, eyes darting about the room. The whistling wind played tricks with her mind. Flat on her back again, she stared up at the underside of the canopy, gripping the covers all the way to her neck and shivering.
Jessie …
She closed her eyes. I’m dreaming …
Where was the voice coming from? Eyes open again, she turned to the door. How could she have forgotten? Her mother’s room was across the hallway! She pushed the covers off and swung her feet to the cold floor. Her slippers were still packed away in the car. She sat there for a moment, staring and imagining the door beyond that, straining her ears….
Jessie …
“Is it you?” she whispered back.
She thought of her robe, packed away. In her pajamas, she made her way to the door and placed a tentative hand on the knob. She twisted it slowly, then pushed it open, revealing the door across the hall. It was partially open. She squinted her eyes. It can’t be.
Last night it was closed. Locked. From across the hall, she peered into the room, unable to distinguish anything in the murky darkness.
Jessie …
“I’m coming, Mom.” She was halfway across the hall when she heard steps to her left. She turned and was startled to see her grandmother in a blue robe.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Grandmother asked.
“I heard a voice.”
“Impossible,” her grandmother snapped, her face sinister in the morning shadows.
“My mother is in there,” Jessie insisted.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
A man came up behind her grandmother. It was Bill. Without speaking, he exchanged worried glances with Jessie’s grandmother, then headed back down the hallway. What was he going to do?
“Jessie, I’ve been worried about you. You’ve been imagining things again.”
Again?
Her grandmother extended her hand. “Come with me.”
Now frantic, Jessie ignored the outstretched hand and pushed her mother’s door fully open. She groped for a light switch and clicked it, but nothing happened. “Mom? I’m here!”
And then Jessie saw her. She was looking out the window to the backyard wearing the beautiful yellow sundress. I was right all along! she thought.
“Mom?”
But her mother didn’t budge. She was still gazing out the window. Jessie couldn’t even see her face, but she began to run into the room, reaching for her mom, but she couldn’t make any forward progress, as if she were running on a treadmill. Panic shuddered through her. Desperation filled her lungs. “I’m coming, Mom!”
But her mother didn’t hear her. Jessie kept running, running, running, but she couldn’t get any closer. Tears of frustration burst from her eyes. Surely, her grandmother was right behind her. And what was Bill doing? Had he gone to make a phone call? Who had he called?
Something grabbed her from behind and she was being pulled backward. The men in white coats had already arrived. “No!” she screamed. Something like a shirt was thrown over her head, and her arms were pulled violently behind her. “Please, no! Please, no! My mother is still alive!” She kept screaming. “Don’t you see her? She’s wearing the sundress. She needs me!”
Jessie startled herself awake breathing heavily, blinking away the fading images of the dream. Gradually, her heart rate settled down, and she regained her composure. From the lingering bits and pieces she recognized it as her least favorite dream, the variation where she believed her mother was still alive. She shuddered. She hadn’t struggled through that particular dream in a very long time.
When she finally looked around the room, she felt the momentary confusion that comes from waking up in a strange place. Then she remembered driving to Colorado from Kansas yesterday … driving to Palmer Lake, and then … here.
She sighed, feeling foolish indeed. What was I thinking? Whatever she had been thinking, she was thinking more clearly now. Surely her grandmother wouldn’t assume a relationship based on one short visit.
She sat up, pulling her legs over the bed and touching the hardwood floor with her pinky toe. Cold. Put one foot in front of the other, she told herself, testing her weight on both feet. I’ll be leaving here soon.
She headed for the bathroom. Talk about overreacting, she thought, remembering yesterday. Who cared who owned her parents’ old house?
The whole confrontation thing was beneath her. Grandmother can have the house. Yes, it was a very good thing she was leaving soon. Tomorrow, she’d be on her way to Oregon, and by the time she arrived she would have forgotten this ill-advised trip down memory lane. Who says repression is so bad?
In the Sunday morning sunshine, the bathroom fixtures were winter bright. Everything seemed whiter—the tile floor, the sink, the Jacuzzi tub—in the morning light. A wallpaper border met the ceiling with a strip of colorful red and yellow flowers woven into ivy.
She took the longest shower in memory, shampooing and conditioning her hair and shaving her legs. When she was done, she felt like a steam-cleaned raisin. Jessie reentered her bedroom with a towel wrapped around her body and dressed quickly in baggy jeans, an oversized gray T-shirt, and pink slip-ons.
When she wandered downstairs, the house was still. She crossed the oversized entryway and headed toward the grand room, where kitty-corner to the elegant fireplace, her grandmother’s white Steinway glistened in the morning dawn. On the wall beside the fireplace was a larger collection of framed photos.
Off the grand room was another door, which led past an additional stairwell to the upstairs, then on to the kitchen, where Jessie discovered Bill sitting at the table in the sunny alcove. He was reading the newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee.
“G’morning, sunshine,” Bill greeted. “Up early, aren’t you?” He was wearing a plain T-shirt and black-rimmed glasses were balanced on his nose. His silver hair had a tinge of blue-gray in the morning light. Bill offered her the paper, and she read the headlines while he got up and began tooling around the kitchen. Jessie looked out the window and noticed the gazebo. “That’s beautiful, Bill. Did you build it?”
Bill cracked an egg into a white bowl. “You like gazebos?”
“I could live in a gazebo,” Jessie said with a chuckle.
He regarded her curiously, then resumed his task. “Your grandmother’s church is one of those ritual types, complete with a feelgood sermon. Pain free, if you’re so inclined.”
Jessie hadn’t promised anything yet, but if Grandmother’s church was as Bill described, no problem. After all, she’d set foot in Darlene’s church … once.
“Will you be going, too?” Jessie asked as he mixed the eggs.
“I’ll be dropping you off,” he replied, tossing the eggshells into the garbage beneath the sink. She saw the hesitant, unsure side of Bill again, but his smile quickly returned. Turning back to the paper, Jessie was already dreading his imminent absence.
Her grandmother made an entrance minutes later, and suddenly the temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop a few degrees. Grandmother was dressed in Sunday go-to-meeting style, a white V-neck blouse, an embroidered hip-length cardigan, and an anklelength rayon skirt.
Bill poured her a cup of coffee, and she chattered
about the weather, the garden, her neighbors, her bridge club, her country club, her charity group, and her piano teacher friends, who were hoping to meet Jessie. Obviously, Grandmother’s social tentacles were everywhere. She was still talking when Jessie realized she had nothing to wear for church, that is, if she intended to go.
But Grandmother seemed delighted. “I’m sure I have your size.” Then she frowned. “Are you comfortable with wearing one of your mother’s old skirts?”
Jessie was still considering this when her grandmother added, “I certainly don’t think you’d appreciate my style.”
“I’m sure my … mother’s skirts might fit … if you don’t mind… .”
“Not at all.”
Grandmother returned with a collection of skirts and dresses—solid pleats, crushed velvet, floral patterns—nothing Jessie remembered.
She still has all of Mom’s clothing, she thought.
She selected a conservative floral-print skirt with a dark blue background and a white blouse. When Jessie sniffed the collar, she let out a small sigh of relief. Her mother had never worn it.
Her mother’s favorite perfume had been Charlie, and in Jessie’s experience, the aroma of Charlie lasted forever. In fact, she had an unsent letter from years ago that still emanated the scent.
She went upstairs to dress and apply blush and eyeliner. Staring into the mirror, she wondered again why Bill, who seemed to be so enmeshed in her grandmother’s life, didn’t choose to attend her church. And he’d seemed almost secretive about it.
Doesn’t matter anyway, she reminded herself. I’ll be miles away by tomorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
AS EXPECTED, Bill played chauffeur, driving them the few miles to church, which was located just south of downtown, on Cascade Avenue. A classically built structure, the edifice had an almost Gothic feel, with elegant maroon brick, Tudor arches, gabled roof, and a magnificent stained-glass depiction of the Last Supper. Bill let them out at the front door, and no mention was made of his return.
Getting into the sanctuary proved difficult, as Grandmother seemed to know everyone, mostly couples in their sixties and seventies, impeccably dressed. She introduced Jessie as if she were traveling royalty. The people shook her hand, some almost too warmly, as though privy to the whole rotten affair—which, of course, they probably were.
Each person seemed to outdo the other in praising his friendship with “Doris, the most generous woman in Colorado Springs,” and seemed utterly thrilled to have been singled out for such an introduction. One woman commented on Jessie’s resemblance to her mother, a comment that received a quick clearing of Grandmother’s throat and an ushering on to the next recipient of her privileged attention. Five minutes of that routine was enough for Jessie. When the opportunity presented itself, she excused herself to the rest room and locked herself in the stall, gathering her composure for the next round.
Eventually they made it to the large sanctuary, which faced an ornate altar. Perhaps a thousand souls sat on hard-back wooden pews with light blue padding. Not enough padding, in her opinion. Once seated, they became the recipients of more than a few casual glances—people who appeared to be looking for someone else, yet allowed their gaze to casually drift in their direction. And Grandmother glowed in the light of human attention.
Jessie glanced at her grandmother and was surprised that she seemed to be silently praying.
The service itself was just as formal as Jessie expected, with a beautiful and complex choir number before the sermon. At one point, Grandmother leaned over, making note of her friends on the choir platform, which seemed to include the entire group. It occurred to Jessie that those who weren’t her grandmother’s friends must have felt they were part of a small disadvantaged number.
As the hour progressed, Jessie thought of Darlene and her never ending invitations to attend church. Afraid to set some kind of precedence, Jessie had steadfastly declined. As a child, she had attended her grandmother’s church on a few occasions, suffering through services that were dreadfully boring. Not to mention, she’d missed her friends at the church in nearby Monument. Due to the slim pickings in Palmer Lake, even Andy’s family and the Robinettes attended the Monument church.
Pain free, Bill had said when referring to this church. Turned out he was right. The silver-haired minister, in his red-and-white robe, gave a well-crafted sermon on the practice of gratitude. Later, a young woman with straight brown hair performed a technically demanding organ solo, and Grandmother closed her eyes as if in ecstasy, then leaning over at the end, she whispered, “And to think she’s part of our church!”
After the service and a few more rounds of introductions, Verona, a friendly Dutch woman who owned a white Cadillac, drove them down Lake Avenue for lunch at the Broadmoor. Grandmother sat up front, while Jessie sat in the backseat.
Halfway to the Broadmoor, Verona meandered onto dangerous ground. “How long has it been, Jessica?”
Oh boy, Jessie thought nervously, anticipating her grandmother’s response.
“Verona …”
Verona heard the tone in her grandmother’s voice and became flustered. “Well, it’s wonderful to meet you. Your grandmother has had wonderful things to say.” As if she wouldn’t have.
Another awkward silence passed as Grandmother looked out the window, a posture that Jessie realized was intended to communicate displeasure.
“I missed the mountains,” Jessie offered cheerfully, but it wasn’t really true. The growing awkwardness stiffened the three of them into uncomfortable silence. They ate lunch at a ritzy café that was part of the vast Broadmoor resort—patio chairs, umbrella shading, with an overly formal wait staff. Conversation was conducted by Grandmother, who had recovered from Verona’s social lapses, and Verona was delighted to have the opportunity to redeem herself.
Later, after Verona had driven them back home, Doris made a point of noting that Verona was a recent widow.
They were still standing in the entryway when Bill emerged from the kitchen with a can of soda in his hand. He tipped his baseball cap.
“Where’s your cowboy hat?” Jessie asked.
Bill grinned. “I give it a rest on Sundays.”
Grandmother grimaced. “I have to look at that thing enough as it is.”
For a moment, the three of them stood in the entryway, looking at each other uneasily, until Jessie realized that they were both wondering what she had decided. She’d promised one day. Was she staying or leaving?
“What are your dinner plans with Betty?” Grandmother asked casually, but there was something behind her eyes. If Jessie didn’t know better, she might have thought it was sorrow, or even regret.
I’m leaving, Jessie reminded herself.
The dinner was at six o’clock, she told them. They wandered through a kind of winding-down conversation, like people do when they are meaning to say good-bye. “You wouldn’t get very far,” Bill ventured. “Probably have to stay in a hotel in Denver. Seems a waste.”
“And yet she’d be that much closer to getting on the road.” Grandmother was making a transparent effort to appear flexible.
Jessie avoided Bill’s coaxing gaze.
“You never took the gazebo for a spin,” Bill reminded her.
Doris rolled her eyes, and the silly gesture looked out of place on such a proper face. She poked Bill in the ribs. “Bill thinks everything is a car. In this house, we don’t eat, or walk, or read, or do anything. We ‘spin it.’ Doesn’t matter what it is. This morning you may not have realized it, but you didn’t eat an omelet, you took his omelet ‘for a spin,’ and believe me, after eating his cooking, I sometimes do feel as though I’m spinning.” Grandmother was uncharacteristically congenial.
Bill twinkled at Doris, then turned back to Jessie, raising his eyebrows as if to say, See there?
See what? Jessie wondered.
“Let’s take that gazebo for a spin,” Jessie said.
“You two go,” Doris suggested. It was Bi
ll’s turn to roll his eyes, but Jessie was relieved.
They headed through the kitchen alcove and out to the backyard, entering a paradise of color. Her mood brightened when she saw the double porch swing. She felt like a kid again on her way to the park—the closer you got, the more difficult it was to walk calmly. At some point you had to break into a sprint and practically jump onto the swing.
“You like?”
“I love.”
Bill regarded her curiously again.
“I nearly grew up in a gazebo,” Jessie explained. “Our backyard overlooked the park across from the town hall. I could see it from my bedroom window. It tantalized me to no end.”
Bill chuckled, and they sat together for a moment, rocking in silence.
“I think this is good-bye,” Jessie finally expressed, hoping Bill would understand, yet knowing he would press anyway.
“When do you have to be in Oregon?” Bill asked.
“Two weeks.”
“So what’s your rush?”
Jessie looked across the yard. There was no pleasure in being begged. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry about what?”
“I can’t stay.”
“Why?”
She paused a moment but felt emboldened by Bill’s frankness. “If I stay, I might say things I’ll regret.”
“All the more reason.”
“No, Bill.”
“Your grandmother ain’t china glass, honey. Trust me on that one.”
“You don’t understand. I won’t just say things. I’ll scream.” She felt hopelessly adolescent.
“Then let it all hang out. I’ll referee.” His shoulders hitched.
“I’ve known you all of twenty-four hours, but I’ve already seen enough of you to know that if Jessie feels like screaming, she probably has a good reason for it.”
“I don’t want to scream. That’s the point.” Jessie smiled in frustration. “It’s not becoming to a young lady.”
“And, of course, we have the risks,” Bill added with a matterof-fact tone.
She sighed. “Like what?”