Starting from Square Two

by Caren Lissner

  The cemetery was two hundred years old—at least, the part right behind the church was. Two hundred years ago, someone had erected a little white church on a few acres of property, and a small circle of graves followed. For 170 years, no one new was buried there. In the 1970s, new owners bought the property and began expanding the cemetery far back.

  Gert opened the front gate slowly. The graves went back in rows like teeth. On one side, knotted trees gnarled around a metal fence. Abutting it was a backyard with a swingset, and Gert wondered if those kids got ribbed at school for living next to the cemetery, or whether the house was the site each year of the coolest Halloween party around.

  Gert walked past the thirty-five original graves. They were brown instead of gray, and the most legible one said a woman had “Dy’d—1823.”

  She heard the swingset creaking. Gert headed back to the newer rows. Before she came to Marc’s grave, she stopped at one that she’d noticed last year. It belonged to a kid who had died on Sept. 11, 2001. He wasn’t really a kid—he was in his early twenties—but Gert was starting to think of anyone who was more than a few years younger than she as a kid.

  She stood in front of the kid’s grave.

  “Hi, Colin,” she thought. “Remember me? I said hello last year.” She had kept meaning to look on the Internet to find a victim profile on Colin from the New York Times. Gert really couldn’t be sure that Colin had died as a result of the attacks, but she assumed.

  Colin’s grave always reminded her that she’d been lucky to have gotten to spend eight years with Marc. Gert thought about what it would have been like to lose him when they were both twenty-two. They had known so little about relationships when they’d met. They had had to learn so many steps together. But they were also supposed to grow old together. They were supposed to be there through every step of life.

  In the row behind Colin’s grave was Marc’s. He’d been buried next to an uncle who’d died young, in 1985. The uncle was only twenty-nine at the time, and had had leukemia. He would be in his forties today. He’d died young, and he’d still be young today.

  As Gert knelt down, she saw someone coming through the cemetery gates at the far end. It looked like a woman with curly hair, and Gert first thought it might be Marc’s mother, but it was just a stranger.

  Gert sat Indian-style on the ground.

  Marc’s grave said:

  Marc Howell Healy

  1974—2001

  Beloved son, husband, uncle, brother

  Forever in our hearts

  Gert wondered what the protocol was; whether, if they’d had a kid together, “husband” and “father” would come before son. Were there rules on that, or was it decided by the family? She didn’t know. She’d been in such a bad state after the accident that she’d paid little attention when Marc’s father had taken care of everything.

  She smelled the damp, rich soil. A thatch of grass rustled in front of the grave.

  “Hi,” Gert said.

  That was all she needed to say. Sometimes, when they said hi to each other, it meant everything. Sometimes he’d look at her and say it while they were watching TV, just to remind her how happy he was that she was there.

  “I don’t know what to say, because I really don’t know if you’re watching me,” she said. “Maybe you’re with me all the time.”

  She pictured him leaning against the grave, looking at her and smiling.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said. “You know I love you. I always love you.”

  She told him about work and Craig, and about the little blond-haired girl across the street being old enough to walk. Then she sat there for a while, listening and thinking. She heard birds chirping behind her. She thought about the first time she’d gone to a cemetery, when her mother had brought her to her mother’s grave. Her mother had said to the grave, “Mom, this is my daughter, Gert. We named her after you.” Gert had been surprised to hear her mother call someone “Mom.” Her mother was Mom. How could she call someone else Mom?

  A car that needed a new muffler motored past.

  “So young,” a voice said behind her.

  Gert jumped a little. The old woman behind her had a round, motherly face. She was wearing a raincoat and a hood, with just her face showing, and somehow that made Gert think of a nun. She was carrying purple flowers.

  Gert wiped herself off, but didn’t get up. “It was a car crash,” Gert said.

  “You were married to him?” The woman had a Boston accent. “Yes.”

  “My son,” the woman said, waving her hand at a few rows over.

  “Did it happen recently?”

  The woman shook her head. “Twelve years ago today,” she said. She didn’t say anything else.

  “Marc died a year and a half ago,” Gert said.

  “You’re not from Boston,” the woman said.

  “No,” she said. “New York. And L.A.”

  The woman said, “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, too.”

  The woman looked at the ground. “My husband doesn’t come here anymore. His health isn’t what it was. I don’t even remind him his son is gone.”

  Gert nodded.

  “You can’t forget,” the woman said. She gave Gert a brave smile. “I live around here, so I’ll put flowers on your husband’s grave when I come up.”

  “Please do,” Gert said.

  The woman nodded her head, then turned around and walked away.

  Gert watched her trudge toward the far end of the cemetery, toward her son’s grave again.

  Gert thought that if this had been a movie, the woman would have offered her some worldly advice that suddenly snapped everything into perspective. But instead, all she’d done was remind Gert that the pain doesn’t go away.

  Lachlan answered the door. Lach was one of Marc’s nephews. He was thirteen. Gert was amazed at how tall Lach was now, but more, how mature he looked. She’d last seen him a year ago, on Marc’s last birthday, but he hadn’t had partially shaved hair and an earring then. He could be any teenager hanging out with his friends at the mall, or in a music video.

  “Hi, Aunt Gert!” Lach said. His voice was changing, too.

  The first time she’d met him, he’d been four, dressed up for church.

  “Hey! Are your grandparents here?” Gert asked. “I tried calling.”

  “They’ve been out all day,” Lach said. “At the cemetery.”

  “Oh. I didn’t see them.”

  “They were going to go to lunch first and to do wedding stuff. Do you want to wait in here?”

  “Nah.” She realized how sad she must look, and she gave Lachlan a smile. “I’m going to see you at the wedding.”

  “Oh, good!” he said. “You’re coming? I’ll see you.”

  “You tell them I said hi, all right?”

  “Yeah. I will.”

  Before she could step down, Lach opened the screen door and gave her a quick kiss. “Bye, Aunt Gert.”

  She walked back down to the corner and called the taxi service on her cell phone.

  She checked again for messages. There weren’t any.

  She called her voicemail at home. Nothing.

  Why wouldn’t the Healys call her back? Wasn’t that cruel?

  She could call them when she got home. She would call and call until she got them, rather than leaving a message. She wasn’t going to let this go. She didn’t want to end their relationship with them chickening out.

  It would really make Michael’s wedding uncomfortable if they weren’t talking. She’d rather talk to them now, know what she was facing. Even if they weren’t going to have a relationship, she didn’t like ending it on bad terms. And ignoring her on Marc’s birthday was bad terms.

  Waiting for the Greyhound, she made one last quick check of her messages. Still nothing. She thought about how Marc had left a message on her cell phone the day before he’d died. She’d been at lunch and hadn’t answered. He left her the address where they were
going to meet his business associates after work. She’d listened to it and saved it. After he died, she had been listening to messages again and was startled to hear his voice, so lively, as if nothing was wrong. She’d left that message and resaved it. She realized it was the only recording she had of his voice, except for maybe a few seconds on the wedding video. She was amazed that you could be with someone for eight years and never think to tape their voice. She had photos, but few recordings. How could she not have tapes of him?

  Eventually she’d borrowed someone’s speakerphone, dialed into her cell phone voicemail and played his message over the speakerphone so she could tape it on Marc’s stereo. She didn’t know what she’d do with the tape, but it was his last message and she felt a need to keep it.

  By the time she got home that night, there was a message on Gert’s home voicemail from Mr. Healy. He said that he was sorry, that they hadn’t gotten her messages until late. She had trouble believing it, but maybe they were just old people who didn’t bother with things like answering machines. She didn’t want to believe they would just snub her.

  “We’ll see you at Michael’s wedding,” Mr. Healy said. “You know you can call us if you ever need to talk.”

  His voice wasn’t very emotional, Gert thought. He sounded perfunctory. He sounded like he really didn’t care whether she called. And even if they hadn’t gotten messages from her, they should still have reached out to her on Marc’s birthday anyway. Was it so much to ask to be treated like a family member by in-laws? Did you have to be a blood relative to be considered worthy of loving someone?

  There was a second message on her voicemail—from Todd.

  There had been a time not long ago when she’d never had a two-hour period during which she didn’t think of Marc, and today, she’d had one in which she hadn’t been thinking about Todd. Hearing his voice was reassuring.

  He said that he’d hoped the trip had gone well and that he’d see her the next day. She felt better.

  She thought of calling him back, but it was late. He’d sounded tired in his message. He was at a hotel in Buffalo after a late-night run. He had told her his schedule was starting to get crazy again.

  She didn’t realize that this was about to cause a problem.

  Chapter

  12

  Gert must have been a party to at least three conversations during college about how studies had shown that women’s menstrual cycles converged when they lived together. She’d gotten a little tired of that conversation.

  But now, she was beginning to wonder if friends’ bosses’ cycles converged, too. Because she, Hallie and Erika were all dealing with insane bosses that week.

  Hallie had gotten hollered at for forgetting to order food for a business meeting. Erika hadn’t noticed that in a facebook she had designed, a guy’s name had been spelled “Thodore.” Missy was stomping around the office, waiting to snap about something.

  Gert kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to give her an excuse to yell at her.

  Finally, Missy dumped a batch of surveys on her desk for her to analyze.

  “I need these done by tomorrow morning,” Missy said. “First thing.”

  Gert had been depressed that day already. Todd had called before lunch and postponed their date until the following day because of work. Now the surveys meant staying until at least eight. After Todd had canceled, Gert had planned to just head home after work, sink into the couch and watch mindless TV.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Missy said.

  Gert hadn’t been looking at her like anything. She turned her head away so that Missy wouldn’t see her face. She didn’t want to cry.

  Missy stood there a second, then went back to her office. Gert heard the door slam.

  Was this what always being loyal and working hard got her? Even when Missy wasn’t angry at Gert, she never thanked her or told her she’d done a good job.

  Gert took a deep breath and stared out at the buildings of the city.

  Missy stomped back over to Gert’s desk. Gert tensed up again.

  “I’ll be back by three,” Missy snapped. “Make sure you get through half the pile.”

  Then she left.

  Gert waited until the elevator doors had been closed for a few minutes. She got up, strode briskly through the hall and went into the bathroom. She shut the stall door and sat on the toilet. She tried to breathe so she wouldn’t cry.

  Missy means nothing, she told herself. It’s not personal.

  Gert needed to be reminded that she was a good person, that her hard work mattered. That she mattered.

  The bathroom door opened.

  “Who’s in theaahh?” a voice said.

  “Dawn,” Gert said, “go away.”

  Dawn giggled and closed the door.

  Gert calmed herself down, went back to her desk and called Todd’s cell phone. She got his voicemail.

  “Missy’s on the warpath,” she said. “I could use some cheering up.”

  When she hung up, she felt a little better. She rubbed her eyes, did a few surveys, and thought she’d steal forty-five minutes for lunch.

  She sat in the back corner of the gourmet pizza place, the one that charged four dollars a slice. The slice she had chosen for that day had black olives, extra cheese and fresh mushrooms. She was a fan of any place that used fresh mushrooms. Neither she nor Marc could ever tolerate those rubbery canned ones. Mushruins, he had called them.

  From the back corner, she had a prime view of the other people in the pizzeria. Three businessmen were lunching near the door with female colleagues who were dressed much more nicely. A young woman was sitting across from a man, fiddling with her Palm Pilot as he talked to her. Next to the refrigerator full of bottled fruit juices, a heavyset guy in a gray suit was diagramming something on a napkin for two younger guys.

  Gert touched her cell phone, making sure it was on.

  She became conscious of the fact that everyone else in the pizzeria was with a group. Some were talking and laughing, some were businesslike, but they were all with someone.

  She felt like she was hogging a table. There were people standing near the counter, looking for a place to sit. A guy and a girl up front were staring at her as they talked.

  She suddenly didn’t want to be there. She ate quickly and got up to leave.

  Maybe if she stopped thinking about Todd, he’d call.

  She kept on going through the surveys. They had proposed names for products and asked people to rate them on a scale of one to five. All of the names for medicines seemed to have an “X” and end in “N.”

  Gert thought of a few new ones. She jotted them down on a clean piece of paper, then turned the letters into bubble letters, with shadows.

  By three, Missy hadn’t returned. Gert had gotten through half of the surveys. Still, every once in a while, her mind would drift for a few minutes, and she’d have to snap herself back.

  Todd hadn’t returned her call. He had never waited this long to call her back before.

  She moved through more surveys. She thought of more names for products. Most of these probably had been computer generated, she thought. Still, it might be fun to suggest some.

  That’s what I should be doing, she thought. Creating. Pitching. Not tabulating.

  An hour passed, then two. She straightened out her pile.

  Todd should have been able to tell from her voice how upset she was, right?

  She decided she’d gotten too dependent on him. Why had she done that?

  She checked her voicemail at home. There was one message, but it turned out to be an automated voice trying to sell her a vacation. They seemed to be replacing telemarketers.

  She really wanted to hear Todd’s voice.

  At six, she left. Missy had come and gone. Gert had an hour’s worth of surveys to finish, but she took them home with her. She couldn’t stand sitting at her desk for a minute more. Her back was starting to hurt.

  It was dark outside. As she made her wa
y through the crowds to the subway, everyone was hurrying—probably to dinner dates and their significant others, their foot rubs and warm baths.

  It wasn’t until eight-thirty, when Gert was recovering in front of a TV full of bad sitcoms, that Todd called.

  “What’s up?” he said.

  “Oh,” Gert said. “I had a lousy day—”

  “Good. It’s hard to hear you. We’re about to go through a tunnel.”

  He sounded emotionless. When he could talk again, he said work was crazy and he had to get off quickly.

  Gert felt fear creeping into her voice. She calmed herself and spoke evenly.

  “I’ll still see you tomorrow, right?” she said.

  “Right,” Todd said. “I’ll see you.”

  He didn’t sound excited. But he probably couldn’t talk anyway.

  “See you,” he said again. Then he hung up.

  She sat there, stunned. She realized they hadn’t decided on a time. But he could still call her tomorrow with one. Still, she thought of calling him back to ask, just so she’d feel better.

  She couldn’t let herself.

  She remembered what Hallie had said.

  When the women were the ones doing the chasing, there was a problem.

  That night, Gert lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Something about the conversation had unnerved her. Todd had said he’d had to go twice. He hadn’t sounded excited about seeing her. He didn’t seem concerned at all that she’d had a lousy day. A few weeks earlier, he’d swept her off to dinner when she’d had a lousy day.

  But she was probably imagining it. Why should she be unnerved by a short conversation? He was at work, for God’s sake. They were still meeting tomorrow. She’d realize when she saw him how silly she was being.

  Her lids shut, and she was too tired to think about it anymore.

  In the morning, Missy popped in and out and seemed too preoccupied to say anything to Gert. Gert had nothing to do, so she kept occupied on her computer in order to look busy. She checked the Onion, Modern Humorist, and her e-mail. Hallie had forwarded something entitled, “Why tool boxes are like men.”