by Iris Kincaid
Now, Gillian’s grandmother’s coffeehouse wasn’t the only game in town, but it did a pretty bustling business. And so, Sophie’s mother was not one to take no for an answer. Because of the girls’ friendship, Sophie and her mother and Gillian and her grandmother were thrown together on several occasions. Sophie’s mother played it cool, played it coy, and fawned over Gillian in an attempt to ingratiate herself with her grandmother. Frankly, she was overestimating the old woman’s attachment to the child. Gillian was not related by blood, but by marriage. When Gillian’s parents died, she had not been happy when the child moved in with them. And when her husband died, she was quite put out to be awarded sole guardianship of Gillian.
In other words, all of the efforts of Sophie’s mother were for naught. Gillian’s grandmother turned her down again and again.
And then one day, Gillian went to school and all of a sudden, Sophie was no longer her friend. She would barely speak to her. And when Gillian finally confronted her and asked what had gone wrong, she said the only reason she’d ever invited Gillian to her birthday party and the only reason she’d been hanging out with her since then was because her mother had told her to. Her mother had assumed that a strong bond between us would make her a shoe-in as the bakery’s next supplier. Now that it had become clear that plan was never going to work, Sophie’s mother had informed her that she needn’t waste any more time pretending to be her friend.
Gillian sobbed for days. And nights. Many, many nights. And then she went numb and plodded through daily life as woodenly as possible. It was almost an out of body experience. She sent her body to class in school every day, but she was elsewhere, completely detached, untouchable, protected.
Lesson learned. Anyone who sought out her friendship or company must invariably have motives that, while not immediately apparent, would eventually prove to have much more to do with her perceived benefit to them than the pleasure of her company.
And so, Gillian woke up, both blind and enlightened. She took the remembrance of childhood betrayal to be a guiding sign. Go numb. Keep going. Trust no one.
*****
The day ahead was one of dark paralysis. Getting out of bed was a supreme effort. The one thing that helped assist in that matter was reminding herself that another woman had so recently been in it.
There were things that she knew how to do that were fairly easy. Easy being a relative term. Everything took two to three times as long to do as it had in her sighted days, like dishes, laundry, and cooking. She hadn’t wanted to be dependent on Byron for everything. And she had never wanted for him to look at her as an invalid. So, she certainly was able to handle the essentials of daily survival.
But it required high resources of energy, of which she felt completely depleted. She tearfully prepared her eggs, boiled rather than scrambled—it was easier. Without the visual cues, it was hard to know exactly when scrambled eggs were at the perfect consistency. Toast was easy enough. The toaster was always at the lowest setting.
Coffee, she knew very well how to make. But what did she need with a large pot of coffee without Byron there? He loved a good cup of joe. The smell of coffee in the air would only remind her of his absence.
Not that she could ever lose sight of it. Not even for a moment. For the past two years, the certainty of his aid, support, and devotion had been the bedrock of her happiness. It had felt as if the universe was giving her one single but tremendous compensation for the loss of her eyes. Daily, she had never failed to reflect with gratitude on the gift of having him in her life.
Now she knew that gift was a mirage. A cosmic hoax. A kick in the stomach to her for forgetting the survival lessons of her early childhood. No one could be relied on.
The house was so deadly quiet. And the thought of going out later just made her want to curl up into a ball. She was not ready to take on the world. Instead, she used the computer, the MP3 player, and the TV to fill the air with music and audiobooks and breaking news. Anything to keep her mind occupied. Anything to delay examining what a bleak and painful position she was in. If she could just fill up blocks of time with some sort of distraction, maybe she could make this day vanish.
Several sessions on the elliptical trainer, two more arduously prepared meals, three hours of cable news, and a long soak in the tub while listening to an audio tape of Anna Karenina, and she finally arrived at a moment where she could respectably crawl back into bed without it feeling too much like a defeat.
*****
Byron’s arrival the next morning was not unexpected. If Gillian were honest with yourself, she had been waiting for it all of the previous day. She had been waiting for him to show up, filled with love and apologies, begging for forgiveness. It was obvious, no matter how much pain she was in, what the logical thing to do was. Together, they could try to put this nightmare behind them.
She heard Byron pace around the living room floor in a manner that got on her nerves. It almost felt as if he was distracted, when getting back in her good graces should be the only thing on his mind.
“Baby, you gotta know there is nothing I want more than to make this up to you. I want to take care of you. I was really good at that, wasn’t I? I took really good care of you and then I screwed up. But I know you can find it in your heart to forgive me. Please, honey. Can you forgive me?”
Could she? The anger and betrayal were still raging in Gillian. It felt as if they were going to consume her. Maybe forgiving him was the only way to make the pain go away. And the fears, the horrible torment, the prospect of a lonely, helpless future. If she could truly forgive him, then she would be back in her secure cocoon and this nightmare would eventually fade into memory.
“How long? How long were you sleeping with her?”
“Oh, sweetie, it was just that one time. First and last time. Horrible mistake. Tragic error of judgment. But we all make one mistake, right? But never again. That I can promise you. Absolutely never again.”
How could it possibly only be one time? “What did she mean when she said that she was tired of sneaking around? How can you be tired of sneaking around if you only snuck around one time? You’re only tired of the things that you’ve done over and over and over again. So, what exactly was Simone tired of?”
Byron could see there was no point in keeping up the ruse. “It was going on for a little while. But like I said, everyone screws up once in a while. We gotta forgive each other, don’t we? Every relationship has its ups and downs. You don’t know how much I want to make this up to you. Just give me a chance. Please, baby.”
“I want you to leave right now. I want you and your ridiculous excuses out of here. You’ll have to come back later for your things. Some time when I’m not here. I can’t stand being in the same room with you. Get out.”
“Are you really going to shoot yourself in the foot over this? What are you going to do? How do you think you’re going to manage? I thought you’d at least have the good sense to have figured that out by now. That’s why I left you alone yesterday, so that you’d have a chance to see how really tough it is to get by on your own.”
So, he hadn’t come by the previous day so that she could have a little taste of misery? If Gillian had been at all unsure of what she should be feeling, that certainly cemented things. She heard the rustling of paper as Byron hovered near the home’s entrance. “What are you doing?”
“Just . . . just getting some of my mail. I’ll be by tomorrow to get my clothes and stuff.”
Then Gillian heard the drawers of the hallway bureau open and close. A few days ago, the home belonged to both of them. Now, it just felt as if he was poking through her things.
“I’ll let you know when you can come back for your things. But now you’re going to leave.”
Byron complied, opening the front and screen doors. “Good luck making it on your own. You’re gonna need it.”
The heartless sarcasm in his voice was more than Gillian could bear. She followed him out to the front porch, not even knowi
ng what she wanted to say, ready to scream something at him at the top of her lungs. But why was the car running? He couldn’t possibly have had a chance to get back into it.
“Byron, is that your car? Why is it running? Is there someone there? You didn’t . . . you didn’t bring her here—”
The same high-pitched nasally voice that had assaulted her in her own bedroom replied. “The name’s Simone. And it’s not his car. It’s mine. A red Lexus convertible. Now he and I are going to go back to our apartment and have ourselves a good time. I hope you’re not going to be a pathetic drag and try to hang on to a man who doesn’t want you.”
That was it. That was all that Gillian could take. “I will kill you, Byron. Do you hear me? You come near me again, and I will get a gun, knife, sledgehammer . . . and I will put an end to your worthless, heartless existence. You really don’t deserve to live. If I had my sight, then your days would be numbered.”
“She’s a psychopath,” Simone jeered. “Let’s get out of here.”
Byron shrugged. Gillian’s anger was obviously past the point of no return. Might as well score some points with Simone. “It just wasn’t meant to be, Gill. You’ll just have to find a way to get over it.”
Gillian heard him get in the car and then heard it back down the driveway. Like most blind people, her hearing had sharpened in compensation. She followed the sound of their car until it was probably two blocks away. And only then did she allow the tears to flow.
*****
“Juniper Lane!” The shuttle driver yelled out. Gillian gripped the metal bar in front of her and waited for the vehicle to come to a complete stop. She was on a free shuttle that was made available for the town’s elderly and disabled, and today, she was the only rider on board.
As she made her way to the front exit, Gillian remembered just a year ago she vowed that she would never use this service. Never get a seeing-eye dog. Never learn braille. All those visible trappings of frailty and disability. It was bad enough that she needed a cane and that the sight of it elicited so much unwanted sympathy and pity. But no matter how irrational, she wanted to keep her distance from being so intertwined with the identity of blindness.
“There you go, young lady,” the driver boomed.
“Thank you,” Gillian muttered unenthusiastically. Maybe she was wrong to feel this way, but she didn’t feel like being someone’s good deed for the day. As she felt her way through the front gate and approached the porch, she could see nothing. Not even shadows anymore, so she was completely startled when a voice greeted her as she was about to take her first step.
“Hi, Gillian. I’m Abby Clarke, your cousin from Phoenix. My mother is your mother’s sister. They . . . I know they weren’t really speaking to each other for so many years. I . . . I was so sad when I heard that she had died, your mother, because I always hoped to meet her. At least, I mean, to really meet her. I actually met both of you when you came out to Phoenix, and I was just a little under two years old. You are about the same age, so I don’t expect you to remember anything about that.”
All of this was ringing a few vague bells for Gillian, but she still had no idea what this young woman was doing here.
“Anyway,” Abby continued, “I was getting a bit tired of Phoenix, and I knew you were out here. I used to follow you on Facebook. Your graphic design business. You’re so talented. And after you closed your account, I started following her boyfriend’s account ’cause I just wanted to know how you were doing. Only I didn’t want to intrude. Because you don’t really know me, right? But that’s how I found out what was happening with your . . . sight. And I was just happy that you had someone out here with you, helping you out with everything.”
Gillian bristled and made her way up the stairs. She didn’t want to have to explain what had gone wrong in her life to someone who is a complete stranger. She unlocked the door and felt Abby climb the stairs behind her.
“But then . . . it looked as if the two of you broke up. So, I thought I’d come out and see if you maybe needed any help.”
Gillian was taken aback. “How did you know? How could you possibly know? That we broke up.”
“He changed his Facebook status to single. And then he posted a few new pictures of himself with this very irritating looking blonde. I would have sent a message to ask how you’re doing but somehow, I just didn’t trust him at that point.”
At least her cousin had a little common sense. But what was that noise? It felt as if Abby was hauling luggage. As if she planned on staying here!
“So, I thought this might be a great chance for us to get to know each other. And for me to help out any way that I can.”
“You wanted to stay here?” Gillian asked incredulously. Now she was starting to understand. Her cousin was a freeloader.
“Yeah. I wish we had grown up alongside each other like cousins are supposed to. But better late than never. And I can help out around the house.”
“The house is fine. And so am I. And taking care of myself just fine,” Gillian conveyed through gritted teeth.
“Of course, you are. You look like you’re doing great. And I could always tell how smart you were when I followed you on Facebook. You talked about art, and you knew all these different styles—like I never knew the difference between Art Deco and Art Nouveau until you explained it. You have a great way of explaining things. And you know so much about the history of art. It made me wish that I’d had a chance to get a degree and make a real career for myself. Just maybe one that doesn’t require so much talent. That must have all fallen on your side of the family.”
“Come on in,” Gillian offered grudgingly. “I suppose you can stay here a while. Until you find a place. There are a couple of guestrooms. But I am used to . . .” She was about to say that she was used to living alone. But, of course, that wasn’t really true. She was used to living with Byron.
From the gasp coming from Abby, Julie could tell that her cousin was impressed with the house.
“What a beautiful old place.”
It had been a long time since Gillian had had a clear view of her own home, but she did remember that it made a great impression. “It was my grandmother’s house. I mean, my father’s mother . . . stepmother. There was actually no one left on her side of the family to leave it to besides me.”
“What lovely old furniture,” Abby enthused. “Lot of antiques, huh?”
“Don’t move anything,” Gillian cautioned. “I know where everything is, and I don’t want to be stumbling around or tripping on anything.”
“You got it. Which way to the bathroom? I was sitting out on your steps for quite a while.”
“On this floor, it’s right in the middle of the front hallway. And another one upstairs.”
“Great. Back in a minute.”
While Abby was gone, Gillian settled on the sofa, trying to figure out what had just happened. This cousin that she had never known even existed was now living with her! Obviously, she was out for free rent and free food.
Well, a few days of hospitality was one thing. She hoped that Abby wasn’t expecting a lot more than that. Gillian just didn’t have anything to give at this point in her life. She just wanted to figure out the logistics of being alone and blind and to crawl inside her shell.
Abby bounced back into the room with an exuberance Gillian felt slightly unnerving.
“I’m starved,” Abby said. “Have you had lunch yet? Oh, I just realized how that sounded. Hey, you don’t know me, but what’s for dinner?” She laughed at herself. “What I meant to say is I’m a pretty decent cook. Maybe I could rustle us up something for lunch. Shall I have a look in the fridge?”
“You won’t find much in there. I’ve arranged for a twice a week delivery, Fridays and Tuesdays. So, I’m a little low on a few things. And I wasn’t expecting—”
“Oh, no problem. I can run out and grab a sandwich. For both of us. What would you like?”
“Why don’t you put your luggage upstairs, and then�
�”
Gillian was interrupted by the sound of the mail arriving with a loud thud through the front door mail slot.
Abby headed for the door and scooped up the mail. “Where should I put this? Oh, I see.” There was a full basket of mail on a tall table near the door.
“Actually,” Gillian said, “there is something that you could do for me. Could you bring the whole basket over here and open the letters for me and let me know what’s here? Probably utility bills and a lot of junk mail.”
“Absolutely. No problem.” Abby settled down next to Gillian. “Hmmph. This first one is for Byron. It looks like an unemployment check. Should I just set his mail aside?”
“Unemployment! He’s not unemployed. He’s had the same job since I met him. He works at a call center.”
“Shall we open it?” Abby asked.
“Oh, no, I can’t open his mail.”
Gillian heard the rip of an envelope opening. “Well, I sure can. I’m pretty ticked off at him. I wrote him a message over a year ago, asking it was all right if I sent you a letter or even came to visit. And he said that you were in a fragile state and didn’t feel like talking to someone who was basically a complete stranger to you. But you didn’t say that, did you? He didn’t even deliver my message, did he?”
Gillian shook her head. “He never said a word. I don’t know . . . I don’t know what I would’ve said. But I think we could at least have talked on the phone. Why wouldn’t he want me to talk to my cousin?”
“Well, for one thing, if I had come earlier, it would be a lot harder to lie to you about losing his job two years ago. Yeah. He’s been receiving benefits for two years.”