The Land of Mango Sunsets

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “Yeah.” He paused and added, “You gave us a good childhood, Mom.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart.” I did? “I know I screwed up lots of things, but I did my best.”

  “All parents do. Or at least they think they do.”

  “Yes. But if I had it to do all over again, I would have done a lot of things differently.”

  There was yet another awkward silence for a few seconds and then he cleared his throat.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore, Mom. So don’t torture yourself.”

  “Well, you’re very sweet to say that, Charlie.”

  “Actually, I called to tell you something, Mom.”

  I was holding his New York Yankee sweatshirt from ages ago and had no idea then that years later I would remember that detail.

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, Priscilla and I have decided to make it official.”

  “Do you mean, get married?”

  “Yes. We’re getting married and I wanted you to be the first to know.”

  “Well, Charlie? Are you sure? I mean, marriage is forever, you know. Or it’s supposed to be forever.”

  “I know that.” I heard a trace of annoyance in his voice and realized it was time to treat him like an adult.

  But here it was. My son was going to marry a woman for whom I felt no affection and a decision had to be made right then and there. Here was my second chance. Either I was going to fully support him and hopefully regain some spot in his life that had a future. Or I could be my usual chilly, distant, noncommittal self on the whole thing and see where things went. But that would have given him one more piece of ammunition to justify distancing himself from me.

  I needed Charlie and some symbol of love in my life so desperately that I leaped to support him. Maybe that wasn’t exactly altruistic, but there it was. This was the moment the second phase of my parenting arrived. Besides, and I’d admit it to everyone, my heart couldn’t stand any more loss. We would sail or sink together on the same ship.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Well, then, congratulations! Charlie? I know you will be a great husband, son. And Priscilla will be a good wife. A great wife. I am thrilled. Have you told your father?” Good job, I told myself. The first step is always the most wobbly.

  “Thanks! Really, Mom. I thought you would go nuts or something.”

  “Why? Oh, Charlie! Honestly! Sweetheart! You’re a grown man! If you don’t know what and who you want in your life, who would I be to tell you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Priscilla is a perfectly lovely and brilliant woman and I think—no, I am certain that y’all are a great match! Seriously. I do…”

  “Thank you, Mom. Really. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome!”

  “Um, you do realize that if we have children they will be of mixed race.”

  “I think I do know that. That is your business, Charlie. Not mine. I will love any child you have. Count on it.”

  An unbelieving silence followed from his end of the phone. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Charlie, just lately I have come to realize certain things. One is that I have lost too much over pride. I am not going to lose you. Or your family. So there you have it. Now, why don’t we make a dinner date to celebrate? Did you give her a ring?”

  “Not yet. But I suppose I should, right?”

  It was the first time in six years that my son had sought my advice. By taking the high ground, I was gaining a little territory. I knew Charlie and we both placed great store in the truth. He knew I was laying the facts right on the line.

  “Oh, yes, I think absolutely, you must give her a ring. Why don’t I go through my jewelry box and see what I can find that might help? Then we can go down to Corey Friedman on Forty-seventh Street and see what he can put together for you?”

  There was an audible gulp from his end.

  “Corey Friedman?”

  “I. Friedman, son. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with my grandmother’s diamond.”

  “Your grandmother’s? Your grandmother, my great-grandmother’s diamond?”

  “Why not? It’s not like something from Elizabeth Taylor’s jewelry box, but it’s quite nice. A smidgen over a carat, I think.”

  “Mom, you realize this is like a one-eighty from your former position on this.”

  “Not really, sweetheart. I’ve been useless to you for too long. Look. These have been some difficult years. I was just so unsure of everything myself that no matter what I said, it always came out wrong. Really. That’s the truth.”

  He was quiet for a minute and then he said, “I believe you.”

  “Thanks. I want to put the past where it belongs from now on.” More silence followed and I said, “Listen! Go call your father and tell him and then call your brother…”

  “I’m gonna ask him to be my best man, even though I never hear from him…”

  “Who does? That’s a good idea. We have to do something to pull this family together—you and me, I mean.”

  “Why not?”

  “Anyway, ask Priscilla for a free date for dinner and then call me back.”

  “Okay. Okay! I’ll do that right now.”

  “And, Charlie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you, Charlie. Please. Tell Priscilla that I want to love her, too.”

  We hung up. I stood there and I felt a glow as if I was feeling real happiness for the first time in so long, I couldn’t remember the last occasion. My little boy was all grown up and getting married. My eyes welled with tears and I went to my bathroom for a tissue. I looked in the mirror. Although I wasn’t thrilled with the wrinkles and lines I saw, I smiled for a change and felt a little bit proud. And relieved.

  We had not found the resolution to everything in one phone call, but I certainly had managed to remove a chunk of the wall between us. And maybe everything I said to him wasn’t quite true, but over time I would make it true. I would learn to love Priscilla and I would give her the biggest welcome into my heart that I could manage.

  Gee, that old saying about catching more flies with honey than vinegar appeared to be legitimate.

  Then the noises above me started. First, there was a loud thud, like someone falling, and then I heard Liz scream no! Next it sounded like a small piece of furniture was knocked over and then Liz screamed stop! My heart started racing and I broke into a sweat because I knew exactly what was happening. Truman Willis was there and he was assaulting Liz.

  I ran for the phone and called Kevin. Thankfully he picked up on the first ring because I was already almost hyperventilating.

  “Where are you?”

  “What’s wrong?” he said, sensing the panic in my voice. When I told him, he said, “Miriam! Listen to me! Do not go up there! Call 911! It might not be Truman. It could be an intruder! I’ll be home in two minutes!”

  “Okay! Please hurry!”

  We hung up and I dialed 911.

  “There’s a man in my house beating up my tenant upstairs! Please hurry!”

  I gave them my address, my name, and hung up to begin pacing the floor. It seemed like an eternity before anyone came to the rescue. Kevin got home first. I was watching through my peephole and saw him going up the stairs, two steps at a time. I went out into the hall and saw him up there standing in front of the door. Suddenly things got very quiet.

  “Liz? Are you all right?” I saw him banging on the door and calling out. “Liz? We called the police and they’ll be here any minute! Liz? Answer me! Liz?”

  I hurried up the stairs right behind him but he shooed me away before I could reach him.

  “Go open the front door and wait for the police,” he said.

  “No! This is my house!”

  “Don’t be a fool, Miriam! There’s no point in both of us getting hurt! Now go!”

  I did as he said and thankfully I could see the blue lights spinning from the patrol car outside. I opened the door as quickly as I could and stood aside. Two
cautious-looking police officers stepped in, looked at me, and said, “We got a call about a domestic disturbance?”

  “Second floor,” I said. “Please! Hurry!”

  But it was quiet and whatever was going on up there had ended in a dead silence that frightened me more than Liz’s screaming and the sounds of furniture being thrown around. Shaking from head to toe, I crept up the stairs and heard one of the officers talking into his two-way radio.

  “Yeah, two ambulances. We’ve got an apparent heart-attack victim with a low pulse and a young woman who’s pretty banged up.”

  Heart attack? Oh dear, heavenly Father! Truman? I looked through the open door. Truman Willis was unconscious on the floor. His complexion was gray, like the color of wet cement. He looked dead. I rushed inside Liz’s bedroom. Through the open door I could see that she was lying on the floor of her bathroom, a puddle of blood under her head.

  “Oh my God,” I said. “Oh my God.”

  Kevin was standing next to me. “Oh, no!” He knelt, and just as he was reaching out to feel her pulse, one of the officers put his hand on Kevin’s shoulder with a firm jerk.

  “Don’t touch her,” an officer said. “I have to ask you two to leave. This is a crime scene.”

  “She’s my…my niece,” I said, lying through my teeth. She bore no family resemblance. “And this is my house. I’m not going anywhere.”

  There were some suspicious looks between the cops, but given the assessment that Truman’s life was in more serious danger, they ignored me. The emergency medical team arrived in minutes and immediately lifted Truman onto the stretcher, starting an IV.

  “His pulse is very weak. Pressure’s eighty over twenty. We gotta get this guy outta here…”

  They were asking Truman questions but he gave no response. He was unconscious. The police asked me if I knew him. I said that I did and hurried downstairs to retrieve Agnes’s number. I gave the number to one of the police officers.

  “Friend of yours?” the officer asked, referring to Truman.

  “Sort of.”

  “Do you want to make the call?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  With a crisp understanding that this old coot Truman Willis had the dreadful luck to nearly succumb in his young lover’s apartment, he stepped outside to make the call himself. He had probably done that sort of thing hundreds of times.

  “This is all my fault,” I said to Kevin. “Oh God. All my fault.”

  “Miriam, Miriam.” Kevin was very upset and I didn’t blame him for being furious with me. He had predicted that something like this could happen.

  “This is so terrible! What have I done?”

  “It could have been worse. Much worse. I’ll lock up the house and meet you at Lenox Hill.”

  It probably wasn’t the most sensitive thing to say but I blurted it out anyway. “You know, Agnes will definitely be there.”

  He looked at me with a white-hot fury I would never forget. Maybe it was because he blamed me for Liz’s condition or was appalled that my cowardice toward Agnes Willis would be worthy of mention at a moment like this.

  “Good. I’ve been dying to meet her.”

  “What if she starts screaming at me?”

  Kevin got in close to my face and whispered, “Then scream back, Miriam.”

  Minutes later, I crawled in the back of the ambulance with Liz, who by then was bandaged and on an IV. She was still unconscious.

  I had never been in an ambulance before. I had never been the cause of this kind of mayhem either. This terrible assault had happened to Liz because of my anger toward Agnes. Liz’s face had a deep gash. She would need a plastic surgeon. She had lost several teeth. She would need an oral surgeon. Her jaw was very swollen and I suspected that Truman had socked her. Because of her uneven breathing, they were concerned that a broken rib had punctured a lung. She would be black-and-blue all over for weeks. How would she go to work? She couldn’t. Obviously. Did she have medical insurance? I doubted it. I would cover her bills even if I had to mortgage the house. I had to make this right. Oh, dear God in heaven, what had I done?

  Chapter Eleven

  AUNTIE AND UNCLE TO THE RESCUE

  The waiting area in the emergency room was the same as all the others I had ever seen. Depressing. Faded walls, chipped floor tiles, rows of rickety plastic chairs. Racks of plastic pockets on the walls held the requisite brochures explaining flu shots, HIV, pregnancy, and all the assorted joys of living. I was fidgeting, scanning through one called “What to Ask Your Doctor” that outlined patient rights and how to feel empowered during your hospital stay. Empowered? How empowered were any of us when a man who made love to you three times a week could beat you to a bloody pulp and give himself a heart attack in the process? It was horrible.

  I took a seat, got up again, and looked around at the others. The police officers were talking to the admissions nurse. To my left, a woman had a crying baby in her arms, whimpering and pulling away from her. Looked like an ear infection to me. A young man was vomiting in a cardboard box—probably flu, I thought, and kept my distance. There was an ancient man with a heavily bandaged foot and an elderly woman who was beautifully dressed, quietly weeping and blowing her nose. There had to have been a dozen people in various stages of distress, but that was a slow night for New York. All I could think was that I wanted to go to Liz and be with her. But they told me no. They said they had to evaluate her before anyone could see her. The doctor would come out and speak with me when the assessment was complete. Besides, there wasn’t room. It was very overcrowded. I didn’t doubt that but I wanted to be involved in any decision they would make about her care. I would make sure that I was included.

  The doors swung open and Kevin appeared. He rushed in, breathless but all business.

  “Miriam? What did they say?”

  “Nothing. They just took her in behind those doors over there. They’ll let me know when they’re done with whatever it is they do.”

  “Does she have health insurance?”

  “Couldn’t ask. She’s unconscious. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t. I’ll tell you what, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She’s got a pretty ugly gash across her cheek. Do we know a plastic surgeon?”

  “Who would sew her up for nothing?”

  “I guess so.”

  “I’d have to think about that. Oh God, this is some mess, Miriam.”

  “All I can do, Kevin, is think about how I caused this. I feel so horrible. I would do anything to roll back time.”

  “Miriam? Regret won’t do anyone any good at this point. We have to think about how we are going to help Liz. That’s our priority. Later on there will be plenty of time for self-recrimination.”

  I heard what he said but my eyes were fixed on the door of the entrance. Agnes Willis had arrived. She spotted me and headed straight in my direction. Her jaw was clenched and she was wild with anger.

  “This is your fault, Miriam Swanson! If my husband dies, you’ll only have yourself to blame!”

  I gasped. She was loud enough to get the attention of the police officers, who like any well-trained members of New York’s finest, knew how to keep their eyes on everything at the same time.

  “This is not my fault, Agnes Willis! Was it my responsibility to see that Truman Willis kept his pants on?”

  She moved closer and began poking me in the chest with her finger. “This. Is. Your. Fault. Do you hear me? And I will sue you for your last dime if anything happens to my Truman…”

  Kevin grabbed her hand and held it close to him.

  “Mrs. Willis? Keep your hands to yourself, please?”

  “You don’t tell me what to do, you—you ridiculous little man!”

  Kevin raised his chin to her and I thought in that flash of a second that he might slap her. I pushed her away from him, a little harder than I intended, and she stumbled slightly.

  “Don’t you dare call him that! Just who do you think
you are?”

  A police officer stepped over and said, “Is there a problem here?”

  “Keep her away from me,” I said. “I’ve had enough of her nastiness and viciousness to last ten lifetimes.”

  “Vicious? Me? Well, maybe occasionally, but at least I’m somebody in this town! You’re nobody, Miriam Swanson, and everyone knows it.”

  A week ago I would’ve opened a vein and drowned in a river of my own blood and tears. At that moment I thought that what she said was downright hilarious and completely ridiculous. My fury dissolved and I started to laugh.

  “Really? Really? Oh my God! What a joke! Hey! I have an idea! After you go see that philandering thug of yours, why don’t you take your ugly face and your drooping flat ass right on down to hell, Agnes. If you’re the benchmark for something, I would so much prefer to be nothing!” Mellie the Mouth had found her legs.

  “What? How dare you speak to me this way?” She raised her hand and the police officer caught it in midair.

  “What’s the matter with you, lady?” he said. “I wouldn’t be hitting anyone if I were you.” The officer sized up the she-devil and said, “You know, the man we brought in is in big trouble.” He checked his notes. “I’m assuming he’s your husband, um, Truman Willis?”

  “What do you mean?” Agnes said. “And you may call me Mrs. Willis, if you please.”

  “If I please? Okay. Well, Mrs. Willis, when that beautiful young woman in there regains consciousness, she may decide to press charges against your husband for aggravated assault or attempted murder. You’d better get a lawyer. Mrs. Willis.”

  Agnes stepped back from me with a scowl on her face that was so ugly it was the stuff of nightmares. I had not ever entertained the thought that Agnes could be so downright unattractive. The officer pulled up his pants by his belt and walked back to his partner, who stood against the admissions desk shaking his head.

  “And a little anger management therapy wouldn’t hurt,” I said. “For both of you.”

  Agnes was glaring at me.

  My heart was pounding, I was breathing rapidly, and my ears were ringing from what I was sure was a surge of blood pressure.