The Faded Photo

by Sarah Price

  CHAPTER 17

  “God, Mom! Take a chill pill!”

  Frances stood in the center of the kitchen, her hand on her hip and a frown on her face. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi . . . This time, however, counting didn’t work. “How is it possible that you’re failing both math and science? Those were your two favorite subjects last year!”

  “It’s a progress report,” Carrie said.

  With her light-brown hair twisted into a messy bun on top of her head, Carrie looked older than her twelve years. And the look of disdain that she wore aged her even more. Frances wondered if this was what she would have to deal with for the next five years until she went off to college.

  “I just have to hand in a few missing assignments. It’s no big deal. Stop making a mountain out of a molehill like you always do.”

  But it was a big deal, especially if Nicholas found out. Part of her job was monitoring the children’s progress at school. Only As and an occasional B were acceptable; everything else was not. And an F was unheard of, at least in their family. He’d be angry with Frances, not Carrie, for failing to provide the proper supervision, especially since a good portion of the progress report made it clear that her missing homework was the main reason Carrie was in danger of failing. Nicholas expected both of their children to attend Ivy League schools and made no bones about letting them all know that he would accept nothing less from them. It had been his own dream to go to Princeton, but his parents hadn’t been able to afford the tuition, so he went to Boston College instead, where he had been offered a scholarship. He still harbored a bitter resentment toward his mom and dad, although in Frances’s opinion, his degree from Boston College was nothing to complain about.

  Therefore, excellent grades and extracurricular activities were more than important; they were expected. And this was just one more thing that she’d let slip.

  “Your teachers want me to come in for a meeting, Carrie. I don’t have time for this!” She gestured to the letter on the counter. “I’ve enough to do around here, don’t you think?”

  Carrie rolled her eyes. “That’s all you think about. Housework. There’s a world out there, Mom. Besides, like I said, I just have to hand in a few missing assignments. No biggie.”

  “It is a ‘biggie,’ Carrie Anne Snyder. School is your work, need I remind you? Your responsibility. It comes before ballet, before socializing, and before social media. It would be quite beneficial if you began to think about your work more. It needs to be a priority, not an afterthought. Maybe put down the cell phone for an hour or two each night and get that homework finished.”

  “Like that’s ever going to happen . . .”

  There was something about the way Carrie said that. Frances felt as if battery acid were coursing through her veins.

  “Well, you’re going to make it happen, Carrie,” she said in a clipped, even tone, “or you can say good-bye to that iPhone!”

  “Mom!”

  Frances turned away from her, not wanting to engage anymore. Her heart was still racing, and she started to feel short of breath. Carrie stormed out of the kitchen, stomping her feet on each step as she made her way up the staircase, then slammed the door with such fury, a picture frame in the foyer toppled off the wall. Frances could hear the precise moment when the glass shattered against the hardwood floor. She didn’t even have enough energy left to yell for her daughter to come clean up the mess. Instead, she picked up her cell phone and angrily texted her about picking up the glass before her father got home from work, or worse yet, one of the dogs got glass in their paw. In hindsight, Frances knew exactly what had happened. It had been weeks since she’d asked Carrie about homework. Usually, after dinner, she would spend some time with her daughter, reviewing her schoolwork. But in the chaos of dealing with cancer, and her never-ending exhaustion, she’d been too tired to handle it. Fatigue had been her only after-dinner company, it seemed. Most nights, she retired to the comfort of her bed, reading a book until she fell asleep, sometimes with her glasses still perched on the tip of her nose and the book lying open on her lap.

  How could I have neglected to follow up with Carrie? Perhaps I had too much faith that she would be responsible enough to maintain her straight As? Clearly, that had been a misplaced expectation.

  Frances was still standing there when she heard the front door open. Quickly, she looked at the oven clock. Six thirty. She grabbed the letter from the counter, folding it before putting it into her purse. She’d have to call the school in the morning to figure out if they could do a teleconference instead of a face-to-face meeting. In the meantime, there was no sense in getting Nicholas involved until she learned more about Carrie’s situation.

  “What’s going on?” Nicholas asked, concern in his voice, as he walked into the kitchen. “There’s broken glass in the foyer.” His eyes swept over the unset table and the unwashed dishes in the sink. “No dinner?”

  Frances looked up, irritated at his greeting. “Good to see you, too,” she snapped.

  “Whoa!” He backed away from her, holding up his hands as if warding off an attack.

  She raised her hand to her forehead, taking a moment to calm down.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just been a bad day.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Bad few days, actually.”

  He reached up to loosen his tie. “What’s going on?” He pulled off the tie, a silk Salvatore Ferragamo that she’d given him last Christmas, and tossed it onto the chair back. “You seem tense recently. Did you ever get to the doctor? Maybe you still have a touch of the flu.”

  If she were in a better mood, she might have laughed at the irony of his comment. How was it possible that he didn’t realize that she was, indeed, still sick? So sick that she was fighting for her life? She knew she was partially to blame for not telling him. Perhaps she should have just blurted it out instead of trying to find a perfect way and time to do so. Still, it struck her that she was so invisible to the family that no one even noticed on their own that she was, indeed, very sick.

  “I’m fine.” It was her mantra these days. No. Years. Repeating it was the only way that she could believe it to be true.

  “Good.”

  He walked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Without being asked, she reached for a glass and put ice into it. She wasn’t a fan of his after-work drinking, but as per usual she kept her thoughts to herself.

  “Oh, I meant to tell you. My parents called and are coming for Thanksgiving.”

  Frances caught her breath. Thanksgiving? It was only a week away, the Thursday between chemo weeks. That was how she measured her time: before chemo and after chemo as well as chemo weeks and non-chemo weeks. She’d forgotten that he had mentioned wanting to invite his parents for Thanksgiving, just as she’d forgotten about checking Carrie’s homework.

  “They never visit on the holidays, no matter how many times we ask them,” she managed to say, the closest thing to a complaint that she could muster. “Why now?”

  He sighed and took a long, slow drink. When he lowered the glass, he stared at her with dark eyes that flashed at her question.

  “Why not now, Frances? We did invite them, you know. Did you forget?” Before she could respond and defend herself, tell him that she knew—just knew!—that they had never actually discussed his parents coming for Thanksgiving, he shook his head and shot a glare in her direction. “You aren’t going to start that again, are you?”

  “I’m not starting anything, Nicholas,” she countered, although she could think of a dozen reasons why they shouldn’t come, number one on the list being how his mother sat around and waited for Frances to serve them, never once offering to lend a hand. “It’s just that—”

  He interrupted her. “Just what? They are my parents and your children’s grandparents. They have the right to visit us once in a while.”

  “My children?” She felt that increasingly familiar pounding inside h
er chest and a viselike tightening that made her start to gasp for air yet again. “Our children.”

  He ignored her comment, raising his glass to take a long sip. Even the sound of the ice cubes when they clanked against the side of the tumbler made her cringe.

  “You aren’t going to start that again, are you, Nicholas?” she asked, tossing his own words back at him like a boomerang.

  She saw the anger building inside of him. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed as he stared over at her. Over the years she’d learned to pick and choose her battles carefully. Nicholas was very adept at carrying a grudge. Better than anyone else she’d ever met, if she had to be truthful. And while he hadn’t particularly wanted children, arguing that they would interfere with his career, once they were born, he took credit for all of their accomplishments. Yet when things went wrong and they didn’t meet or exceed his expectations, he tended to conveniently forget that he’d been involved in the baby-making process. They became “her” children, as if he’d had nothing to do with their existence at all.

  “You’re barely home anymore. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a small dinner with just the four of us?”

  “Frankly, no.” The definitive way he said that made Frances wince. “You’ve been acting strangely, Frances. What’s going on with you?”

  Again, she contemplated blurting out the truth. She tried to imagine his reaction to the words I have cancer. Would he suddenly embrace her, crying on her shoulder for fear of losing his wife and the mother of his children?

  When she didn’t respond, he glowered at her.

  “Fine.”

  She snapped out of her thoughts. “Huh?”

  He merely shook his head. “If there’s no dinner tonight, I’m going out to grab a bite.”

  That’s right. Just walk away. It was Nicholas’s specialty: turning off and tuning out. Disgusted, she slid a glass across the counter, which fell into the sink and broke into pieces. Between the frame in the hallway, the glass in the sink, and her nerves, she felt shattered, too.

  “Debbie Weaver?”

  Frances nodded and Charlotte made an overly exaggerated eye roll. “She was ambulance-chasing a deal,” Frances said. “Poor man wasn’t doing well, but she was more concerned about closing the deal.”

  “Disgusting. Typical, but disgusting.” She sipped at her wine, then questioned, “Did she ask why you were there?”

  “I just told her I was visiting a friend. It was the truth, anyway.” Frances thought back to her meeting with Debbie and added, “Not like she cared.”

  “I don’t miss those people. Big phony fish in fake little ponds.”

  Frances laughed at Charlotte’s description.

  “What about that mousy little thing? Darcy Campbell? Have you heard anything about her?” When Frances shook her head, Charlotte added, “I’m surprised you didn’t run into her there. As a patient! Her bulimia has to be catching up to her.”

  “Charlotte!”

  But Charlotte merely waved away her mock outrage. “Oh please! It’s almost ironic that she’s so frail and pale, puking her way to nonexistence as if it will hide the fact that her husband is beyond obese! And let’s not get started on the Jacksons with their marriage. I still say that he’s using her for a figurehead to hide his closet inclinations so that he might get to be attorney general one day!”

  Frances couldn’t help but enjoy Charlotte’s perceptions of the country club group that both of their husbands had hung out with. While Gary no longer could afford the club, Nicholas still chose those men as his comrades on the golf course. And Frances couldn’t understand why.

  Figuring it was time to change the subject, Frances picked at the salad that she had no appetite to finish.

  “Different topic, please,” she said. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “Me? Nothing, really. Might go to the Shore with some friends, maybe play in a poker tourney at the Borgata.”

  “Nicholas dropped a bomb on me last night. His parents are coming in for the holiday.” She didn’t need to tell Charlotte what she thought about that. Over the years, Ellen and Dan Snyder had been the subject of numerous discussions over wine or coffee.

  “Reminds me why I got divorced. At least I won’t have to suffer at Gary’s parents’ for any more dry turkey and boring conversation. His mother used to cook that darn bird for days! It was like chewing on leather.”

  They both laughed, just a little. But, in reality, there was nothing humorous about either set of in-laws. Frances could only hope that one day when Andy married, she would have a better relationship with his wife and not be viewed as overbearing or imposing.

  “So, how are you feeling?” Charlotte finally asked.

  “Tired on most days. Short-tempered, too. Last night I snapped at Carrie and then at Nicholas.”

  “Bravo!” Charlotte practically cheered at the news.

  But Frances didn’t feel like celebrating something that she considered unpleasant. There should be harmony in one’s home, her mother had always reminded her. “Carrie’s grades have slipped, and Nicholas was angry that I hadn’t cooked dinner.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes again. “He’s a big boy. I’m sure he didn’t suffer.”

  “That’s the thing.” Frances leaned forward. “I thought that I was protecting them. At least until this merger is over. But instead of everything staying the same, it seems to be getting worse.” She didn’t want to mention that things were falling apart and she couldn’t help but think that the cancer had nothing to do with it. “That woman at chemo. Madeline? She was telling me about her family, too. Only she didn’t really tell me anything at all, just that no one talks to each other anymore.”

  “So?”

  Clearly, Charlotte didn’t get it.

  “What if that’s the way my family turns out? No one talking to each other? No one caring about one another?” It was a worry that had kept her awake on the many nights she couldn’t sleep.

  “Frances, not all families get along. Family dynamics are a tricky thing. There’s jealousy and pettiness in all families. One kid is smarter or has a better job, so the other tries to show their sibling up. Parents age and start turning into old people, focusing on what they’re having for dinner or some other banality like that. People change. It’s normal to have an abnormal family relationship. We can’t all like each other all of the time.”

  But Frances didn’t want that for her children. She didn’t want them to be estranged from each other. Her idea of a good family was one that shared meals together, talked about their days, and maybe even discussed their problems. Instead, Nicholas was never home, Carrie sulked in her room, and Andy . . . well, he tried on his good days.

  “I guess,” she said, acquiescing to her friend rather than belaboring her perspective.

  Charlotte glanced at her cell phone. “Oh! I have to run. I need to pick up some papers and a lockbox at the office, and then I’m headed over to the gym.”

  “The gym?”

  She ruffled through her purse for some cash and tossed it onto the table. “You don’t get this body by sitting around all day long,” she quipped, which made Frances laugh. “Maybe when you’re finished with treatment, you’ll consider coming with me.”

  “Maybe.” But they both knew that she wouldn’t.

  Scoffing, Charlotte stood up. “When a lady says maybe, it usually means no.”

  Frances leaned forward so that Charlotte could kiss her cheek before she hurried down the sidewalk and turned the corner.

  CHAPTER 18

  With as much patience as she could muster, Frances tried to calm her daughter. “It’s important that the table looks nice, Carrie. Your grandparents are coming up for Thanksgiving.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re freaking out!” Carrie cried out as she practically slammed the good china onto the oval wood table. “It’s just Thanksgiving! You’re always making such a big deal out of nothing!”

  “Just Thanksgiving,” France
s repeated as if the words tasted as dirty as they felt.

  “That’s what I said.” Carrie tossed a knife and spoon next to a plate. “Just another dinner, right? Only with Grandma and Grandpa coming.”

  “It’s a holiday, Carrie! And one that we should all pay more attention to. It’s not just about turkey and mashed potatoes. It’s about reflecting on what we are thankful for. And it’s about family. Our family.”

  Carrie shrugged. “It’s not like you really care about them anyway!”

  Frances spun around and put her hands on her hips. “What did you just say?”

  “Oh please, Mom!” Carrie gave a little laugh. “Everyone knows that you can’t stand them. It’s not like I blame you.”

  Frances took a deep breath and watched as Carrie continued throwing the china onto the tabletop. “Can you please be careful with those? They were from my wedding,” she scolded. “And I don’t know why you would think such a thing.”

  “Because it’s true?” Another laugh. “She’s never been really nice to you. Or me either, for that matter.” Carrie looked up, and for a split second Frances thought she saw a look of resentment cross her daughter’s face. “She sure loves Andy, though. But she treats the both of us like we have the plague.”

  Frances’s temper immediately dissipated. All of these years, she had tried to shield Carrie from the acrimony between herself and Nicholas’s parents, especially his mother. After all, none of this was Carrie’s fault. While she could hardly argue with Carrie’s observation, she had hoped that Ellen’s indifference toward her granddaughter might have gone unnoticed. It wasn’t as if they visited frequently, anyway.

  But Carrie had noticed, and despite her front of indifference, it bothered her.

  “She doesn’t treat us like we have a disease,” Frances said softly, but the words sounded lame because, in truth, she did. “She doesn’t have any daughters or sisters. She’s just more comfortable with boys, I suppose.” It was a lie. Frances knew that. But over the years, she’d tried to make excuses for the way Ellen treated them.