“Oh, don’t worry. I’m working that out,” I told them vaguely the night they arrived from the city and asked me for an update on the Mackenzie situation. I was so happy to see them—my beautiful, vibrant, successful daughters!—that for those first few hours at least I was able to put my problems aside. They’d come up for a much-needed break from their own work and worries, and that’s exactly what I planned to give them. If I wasn’t able to be with them every minute, so be it. Though I initially tried not to let them know that I’d be tied up pretty much the whole time they were visiting.
“Let’s go up to Williamstown tomorrow and see a play!” Franny suggested over a late supper of gourmet goodies they’d brought with them from the city. Unlike me—or perhaps because of me—neither of my brainy daughters had really learned to cook. They survived on takeout in the early years of their professional careers, then both had the good sense to marry men who knew their way around a kitchen.
“We could have lunch at the Clark and then go to a matinee,” Olivia said. “What’s playing now, Mom?”
“I’ve no idea, sweetie. This is my busy time, remember? I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass on the matinee, but I could meet you on the way back for dinner. There’s a new place in Lenox I’ve been wanting to try.”
In this way—skipping their day trips and shopping excursions, but having ready suggestions about what the three of us could do together at night—I was able to juggle work and my daughters’ expectations through most of that week. Thursday evening we planned to have a picnic supper at Tanglewood and listen to the concert on the great lawn. I’d promised to make my mustard-and-herb fried chicken—a childhood favorite of my daughters—and had every intention of heading back to the house around four thirty to start cooking. But right around that time Mara, who had been placing an order with Finari’s, our local garden center, put down the phone and said, “You’d better pick up. Ted wants to talk to you.”
Ted Finari, founder and owner, was one of the good guys of this world. He was the first to extend credit to me when I started my business, and had been a booster of Green Acres ever since, often sending new business our way. We were on ninety days payables with him and, at this point, only a few weeks in arrears. But I still picked up the phone with a sinking heart.
“Hey there, Alice,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been hearing some kind of troubling things around town. Is it true you got screwed by that fracking billionaire?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” I said, glancing across the room at Mara. She was pointing at her watch, and I remembered that she’d asked to leave early, too. She and Danny were helping Eleanor get ready for a tag sale she was hosting in Pittsfield on Saturday. Eleanor was giving up her own small one-bedroom apartment to move in with her son. I nodded at Mara, waved toward the door, and watched her leave as I listened to Ted’s reply:
“Oh, man, what a scumbag! What’s this country coming to that a guy like that can screw over honest, hardworking people? Where are the laws, for chrissakes? Where’s the accountability?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing, Ted,” I told him, hoping that I was wrong, and that he’d just called to commiserate.
“I mean, first Madoff, and then AIG and all those too-big-to-fail banks! It’s really infuriating! I get so pissed off just thinking about it—” As Ted continued to rant and rave about the injustices of our current brand of capitalism, it began to occur to me that he was stalling. He was embarrassed and uncomfortable about coming to the point.
Finally, after another few minutes of this, I asked him, “Is there a particular reason you called, Ted?”
“Yes, there is,” he said with none of his earlier bluster. “Oh, shit! I’m sorry, Alice, but I can’t keep carrying you. We’ve got plans to expand the center next fall and the bank is asking for all sorts of assurances before they agree to financing. My accountant warned me that they’ll be going over our books with a fine-tooth comb. I’ve got to have everything current.”
“And by ‘current,’ you mean . . . ?”
“I’m really, really sorry, but I’ve got to put you back on thirty days,” he said.
He did sound sincerely apologetic. For all the good that did me. In many ways, Finari’s Garden Center was the lifeblood of my business. We bought almost all our regular stock from them, and this was one of our bigger months for ordering plants and shrubs. Even including the new, expensive nurseries I went to for the exotic plantings I used at Mackenzie’s, I owed Finari’s more than any other single supplier at this point. If I couldn’t manage to pay them, Green Acres wouldn’t be able to keep going.
“I understand, Ted,” I told him. “I don’t know what’s going to happen here. I’m swamped with debt because of all this. But thanks for helping me out as long as you did. I really appreciate it.”
“Damn it, Alice! I wish things could be different.”
“Me, too,” I said, hanging up the phone. I sat at my desk and dropped my head into my hands. I was too exhausted to cry. I’d run out of excuses. I knew I had no choice now. I’d have to call Sherry the next day to begin the process of mortgaging the house—and put in jeopardy one of the things I cherished most in my life.
I have no idea how much of the conversation Franny actually overheard. But, obviously, it was enough. The screen door slammed as she came in, and she walked right up behind me and began massaging my shoulders. It was something she used to do to comfort me during the bad times after her father left.
“I thought so!” she said. “I told Olivia you were still in trouble. It’s that damn Mackenzie guy, isn’t it? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Why do you think?” I said. “I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself. I feel like a fool and a failure. Your sister’s right. There does seem to be something about me that’s drawn to cheats and liars.”
“Leave it to Olivia to go straight for the jugular,” Franny said. “Well, at least I know what’s happening now. I was beginning to think you were mad at us for coming down so hard on you after that Times piece ran.” She patted me on the arm and said, “Okay, you, up and out of there. We need to get back to the house and let Olivia in on all of this. And I mean all of it, Mom. I think we both deserve to know exactly where things stand, okay?”
We never made it to Tanglewood that night. We sat down around the kitchen table and I told them the whole story. But this time I didn’t sugarcoat the facts or hold anything back. I made it clear that I knew I’d let my pride and ambition trample all over my better judgment. I pointed out how I’d ignored a number of important warning signs that Mackenzie was in trouble and untrustworthy. How I’d recklessly spent an enormous amount of money that wasn’t even yet in my possession. I was as hard on myself—and as honest—as I could be. And when I was done, I sat back with a sigh and waited for the recriminations to start.
Instead, Olivia reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
“I’m sure you have every reason to be proud of that garden,” she said. “I don’t think you should lose sight of that, okay? That you created something really amazing.”
I’d been fine up until then. But my tough-minded, highly critical older daughter’s kindness took me completely by surprise. My eyes filled with tears.
“Thank you,” I said as Franny handed me a napkin.
“That said,” Olivia went on, “it’s pretty clear Green Acres is teetering on the edge of collapse, and you’ve got to do something immediately to shore up the financial structure.”
“Wouldn’t mortgaging the house make the most sense?” Franny asked. “Aside from this mess with Mackenzie, you’ve got a very viable business going, Mom. Interest rates are still pretty low right now. What’s the problem? Is it that you’re worried about making the payments? It seems to me you could swing them pretty easily.”
“No, that’s not it,” I said. How could I explain this to my practical, hardh
eaded offspring? I took a deep breath, and decided that I had to at least try:
“I know you don’t remember your grandfather all that well. You were still only girls when he died. But that last summer when we were all up here together, he made me promise him something. . . .”
They were silent for a minute after I finished. Franny was the first one to speak.
“But taking out a mortgage doesn’t mean you’re going to lose the house, Mom. That could only happen if you defaulted on the loan. It seems to me that a mortgage is a really sensible way of tapping into all the equity that you’ve built up in this place over the years.”
“I know,” I said with a sigh. “You’re right, of course. I’ll—”
“No, I understand,” Olivia said. “It’s not about equity. It’s about family—and what Granddaddy said. This place doesn’t belong to just you—it’s a part of all of our lives. And you don’t feel right about cashing in on it.”
“Exactly,” I said, looking across the table at my older daughter, who was full of surprises suddenly. Olivia and I had often been at odds with each other over the years. It felt especially good to discover that we both felt the same way about something I thought was so important.
“I’m going to talk to Allen,” Olivia announced. “Goldman’s having a good year, and he’s been promised a big bonus. And I’ve got some non-retirement money kicking around. Between the two of us, I’m sure—”
“No, between the four of us,” Franny said. “Owen and I aren’t exactly hurting either.”
By the time my sons-in-law arrived for the weekend, it was settled. I didn’t ask the details of who gave how much—all I knew was that a sum covering what Mackenzie owed me was being wired into the Green Acres business account and would be available the following Monday morning. I was touched and relieved and more grateful than I could ever say. I insisted on calling it a loan, though, and paying the going interest rate on the amount. I was still horribly embarrassed about getting myself into such a mess, but I was proud of my daughters for behaving with such maturity and compassion. They were all the proof I needed just then that I wasn’t a complete failure in life.
To thank them I went all out and made an elaborate dinner on Saturday night. We ate in the dining room, setting out the heirloom silver and using the frail, paper-thin linen that had been in the family for generations.
Allen, who bought wine with the same discrimination and skill with which he purchased equities, opened a bottle of vintage Bordeaux. He held up his glass and said, “To the future!”
“Hear, hear!” I said.
“And to family!” Franny added, smiling across the table at Olivia. It occurred to me that they’d gotten on particularly well with each other that week. I’d witnessed none of the little episodes of sibling rivalry and jealousy that so often erupted when they spent more than a couple of days in close quarters. Despite my problems, it was one of the nicest vacations I could remember in a long time.
“No, you sit,” Olivia said when I started to get up to clear after the main course. “Franny and I will get the dessert.” But a few minutes after they disappeared into the kitchen, I remembered that I hadn’t turned on the coffeemaker. I got up and followed them through the swinging doors. They were standing side by side at the kitchen sink, rinsing dishes.
“When are you going to tell her?” I heard Franny ask.
Olivia whispered something in reply, but I couldn’t make it out. I guess it was because the last few months had brought so much heartache and disappointment, but I immediately jumped to the conclusion that something was wrong—and that they were keeping it from me.
“Tell me what?” I demanded.
“Mom?” Olivia said, turning around. “I thought we agreed that Franny and I would do the cleaning—”
“What’s going on?” I said. “What don’t you want me to know?”
“It’s nothing bad,” Franny said, laughing.
“Actually, it’s something very, very good,” Olivia said. “Allen wanted to open a bottle of champagne when we announced it, but who cares?”
“What? Oh! Don’t tell me . . . ?”
“Yes, Mom,” Olivia said, beaming. “We’re having a baby. You’re going to be a grandmother.”
20
Though I’d always hoped that my daughters would have children of their own someday, Olivia’s news thrilled me in a way I really hadn’t anticipated. It instantly recalibrated my priorities, and made me realize how, immersed in my own problems, I’d allowed myself to ignore the important things in life. Like the miracle of life itself. And the unbreakable bonds of family. I had a harder time than usual saying good-bye to everyone on Sunday afternoon. I hugged Olivia to me before she and Allen got into their car.
“You’ll take good care of yourself, right?” I told her. “You know you have to eat regularly and take plenty of folic acid and—”
“Your daughter’s already the leading expert on prenatal supplements,” Allen told me as he opened the passenger door for his wife. “If we’re going to beat the traffic, we’d better get going.”
Franny, Owen, and I waved them off as they started down the driveway, and Allen gave a farewell honk as he made the right onto Heron River Road.
“It goes by so fast, doesn’t it?” Franny said, turning to me. Owen started to load their suitcases into the trunk.
“Too fast,” I said. “And I could kick myself for wasting so much of it on Mackenzie.” I felt so sad! I had to work hard to keep a smile on my face, but Franny picked up on what I was feeling anyway. She’s always been empathetic, but after Richard left, she became even more acutely attuned to my moods.
“You know what I think, Mom?” she said. “It’s time for you to put that awful man behind you. I just hope he won’t affect how you feel about all men. It seems to me there are some pretty nice ones kicking around up here.”
I knew she meant Tom Deaver. They’d met him when he dropped by the house late Friday afternoon, unaware that I had visitors. He had a gallon-size ziplock bag full of ripe tomatoes with him.
“I thought maybe you could use some nourishment,” he said, holding up the bag and looking past me to my daughters, who were hovering in the hallway behind me. I introduced everyone and invited Tom in for a visit.
“No, I can’t stay,” he said, glancing from me to Franny and Olivia. “I was just checking in. But it’s nice to meet you both. You know, I realize this is going to sound really hokey, but as far as I’m concerned the three of you could easily pass for triplets. Anyway, here are some tomatoes for your dinner. I’ve got so many coming in right now I don’t know what to do with them.”
Before Tom was even halfway down the driveway, Franny poked me in the ribs and giggled.
“He was flirting with you, Mom!” she said. “Triplets? You know, that really was hokey, but he was able to pull it off somehow. He has a kind of boyish, endearing Jason Bateman vibe going.”
“Yeah, with maybe a little Dennis Quaid macho swagger thrown in,” Olivia added. “Not bad for a middle-aged guy. Who is he?”
I tried to brush my daughters’ questions aside, but they were persistent, and before too long I found myself telling them about the selfless way Tom had handled his wife’s illness and early death. About his Clean Energy Consulting firm. And the Wind Power Initiative that Mackenzie had helped shoot down. How, despite that, he’d stepped up and done what he could when Mackenzie collapsed during the Open Day event.
“He came by here later that night to tell me Mackenzie hadn’t made it,” I said.
“Later? How late? And what’s that look on your face?” Olivia demanded.
“You’re blushing,” Franny said. “I knew it! You’ve got a thing for this guy. Well, I’ve got to say, I like the sound of him. Plus he grows his own tomatoes. That’s hard to beat.”
After Franny and Owen left, the house felt empty. I usu
ally don’t mind being by myself. My disastrous marriage cured me of the need for intimacy. And the fear of loneliness. Over the last half dozen years or so I’d come to realize that I really enjoyed my own company. But Olivia’s announcement had stirred up all sorts of maternal and nostalgic feelings in me. It brought back vivid memories of my own pregnancies—and the joy and excitement of young motherhood. Along with all that, of course, it brought back Richard. I could still never think of him without pain. And I resented the way he remained embedded in my life, tangled up in all my memories. Every happy moment that I’d shared with him was now tinged with anger and regret.
It was still light out at seven thirty. I poured myself a glass of white wine and wandered outside in my bare feet. The grass was cool and lush, the shadows lengthening across the lawn. I loved this time of day in the summer, when the crickets are tuning up in the underbrush and the birds are calling back and forth to one another. Good night! Good night! I sat down in one of the old teak chairs facing the long back border and watched the first of the fireflies drift across the patchwork of bleeding hearts, Shasta daisies, and echinacea. How lucky I was to be able to hold on to all this! How grateful I was that my children could help me out the way they had. What a relief not to have to worry any longer about how I was going to cope. And yet . . .
I couldn’t seem to shake my melancholy. It was more than that, really. It was a helpless sense of time passing—and of regret. About the mistakes I’d made in love. And now with work. The misjudgments for which I had only myself to blame. Just when I was convinced I’d finally gotten my life back on track, I’d stumbled badly. I’d nearly lost everything again. It frightened me how close I’d come.
Bleeding Heart Page 16