“Go put your pajamas on,” she said, as though she were talking to a child, or perhaps a stranger. She sounded like a nurse, caring for him, not a woman who had once loved him.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, clearing his head, and then he looked up at her. “I'm sorry about tonight, Liz. I guess I just forgot. Maybe I was nervous about coming home and starting all over again. I don't know. I didn't mean to ruin anything.” But he had anyway. Life had ruined things for them. She was gone, never to return to them again. They would never ever see their little Annie.
“It doesn't matter,” she said, not convincing him or herself. “We'll do it again sometime.” But she didn't sound as though she meant it.
“Will you? I'd really like that. I miss your dinners.” They had all lost weight that year. It had been a rough seven months for all of them, and it showed. John had aged, and Liz looked gaunt and unhappy, particularly now that she knew for sure there would never be another baby.
He went into the bathroom and put his pajamas on then, and he smelled clean and looked neat when he returned to lie beside her. But she had her back to him, and everything about her felt rigid and unhappy.
“Liz?” he asked in the darkened room. “Do you suppose you'll ever forgive me?”
“There's nothing to forgive. You didn't do anything.” Her voice sounded as dead as he felt, and they both looked it.
“Maybe if we had asked the doctor to come that night … If I hadn't told you it was just a cold …”
“Dr. Stone says it wouldn't have made any difference.” But she didn't sound as though she believed it.
“I'm sorry,” he said, as tears choked him, and he put a hand on her shoulder. But she didn't move, if anything she seemed even stiffer and more distant from him after he had touched her. “I'm sorry, Liz …”
“So am I,” she said softly, but she never turned back to him. She never looked at him. She never saw him crying silently in the moonlight, as he lay there, and he never saw her tears sliding slowly into her pillow. They were like two people drowning quietly, in separate oceans.
And as Tommy lay in his bed that night, thinking of them, he figured there was no hope left of ever getting them back together. It was obvious to him that too much had happened to them, the pain was too great, the grief too much to bear or recover from. He had lost not only his sister, but his home, and both his parents. And the only thing that cheered him, as he lay there, thinking about them, was the prospect of seeing Maribeth … he thought of the long legs and the bright red hair, the funny old shirt she had worn, and their race on the shores of the lake … he thought of a thousand things, and then drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Maribeth walking slowly down the beach at the lake, holding hands with Annie.
Chapter Five
On Sunday, he took her to see From Here to Eternity with Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr after work, and they both loved it. He sat very close to her, with an arm around her, and they ate popcorn and candy bars, and she cried at all the sad parts, and they both agreed afterwards that it was a great movie.
He drove her home, and they made plans for the following Wednesday afternoon, and she asked him casually how dinner with his parents had been, although she'd seen him in the meantime, she had forgotten to ask him.
“Not so great actually,” he said, looking pensive, “actually pretty rotten. My dad forgot to come home. I guess he went out with some guys from work. Anyway, the roast beef got overcooked, my mom got really mad, and my dad came home drunk. Not exactly your perfect evening.” He grinned, it was so bad you had to be philosophical about it. “They're pretty mad at each other most of the time. I guess they're just mad at the things they can't change, but they don't seem to be able to help each other.”
Maribeth nodded, looking sympathetic, and they sat on her front steps for a while. The old lady who rented the room to her liked to see Maribeth enjoy herself, she really liked her. She told Maribeth all the time that she was too thin, which Maribeth knew would not be the case for long, and in truth wasn't even for the moment. She had already started gaining weight, but she still managed to conceal it, although the apron she wore at work was starting to bulge more than it had in the beginning.
“So what'll we do Wednesday?” Tommy asked happily. “Go back to the lake?”
“Sure. Why don't you let me get the lunch this time? I can even make some stuff here.”
“Okay.”
“What would you like?”
“Anything you make'll be fine.” He just wanted to be with her. And as they sat side by side on the steps, he could feel her body tantalizingly close to his, but still he somehow couldn't manage to lean over and kiss her. Everything about her appealed to him, and just being near her caused him physical pain, but actually taking her in his arms and kissing her was more than he could handle. She could sense his tension as he sat next to her, but she misinterpreted it, and thought it had something to do with his parents.
“Maybe it's just a question of time' she reassured him. “It's only been seven months. Give them a chance. Maybe when your mom goes back to work that'll make things better.”
“Or worse,” he said, looking worried. “Then she'll never be home. While Annie was alive, she only worked part time. But I guess she figures she doesn't need to be home for me all the time, and she's right. I don't even get home till six o'clock once school starts.”
“Do you think they'd ever have another baby?” she asked, looking intrigued, not sure how old they were. But he shook his head. He had wondered the same thing, but he didn't think they would now.
“I think my mom's kind of old for that. She's forty-seven, and she had a lot of trouble having her. I don't even know if they'd want another baby. They never said so.”
“Parents don't talk about stuff like that around kids,” she grinned, and he looked faintly embarrassed.
“Yeah. I guess not.” They made their plans for the following Wednesday afternoon, and he promised to come to dinner at the restaurant either Monday or Tuesday. Julie had figured out that Maribeth was going out with him by then, and they teased her whenever he came in, but it was all in good fun, and they were happy she had someone as nice as Tommy to be friends with.
He said good night to her, standing on one foot, and then the other, feeling awkward with her, which was rare, but he didn't want to move too fast, or too slow, or seem too bold to her, or as though he didn't like her. It was an agonizing moment. And after she gently closed the door, she looked thoughtful as she went upstairs to her bedroom, wondering how, eventually, was she going to tell him the truth about her.
As it turned out, he came to see her at the restaurant the next afternoon, and then came back after work to drive her home for the next two days, and before he picked her up on Wednesday, he went out to the cemetery early that morning, to visit Annie.
He went there from time to time to clean up her grave, and sweep the dead leaves away. There were little flowers that he had planted there, and he always tidied things up. It was something he did just for her, and for his mother, because he knew she worried about it, but couldn't bear to go there.
He talked to her sometimes while he worked, and this time, he told her all about Maribeth, and how much she'd like her. It was as though she were sitting up in a tree somewhere, looking down on him, and he was telling her all about his latest doings.
“She's a great girl … no pimples …long legs …she can't swim, but she's a terrific runner. I think you'd like her.” And then he grinned, thinking of both Maribeth and his little sister. In some ways, Maribeth reminded him of the kind of girl Annie might have been if she'd grown up to be sixteen. They had the same kind of straightforward honesty and directness. And the same sense of mischief and good humor.
He finished his work at the gravesite then, thinking about the things Maribeth had said, about some people just passing through one's lives in order to bring a gift, or a special blessing. “Not everyone is meant to stay forever,” she had said, and it w
as the first time that anything had made any sense to him about Annie. Maybe she was just passing through …but if only she could have stayed a little longer.
Her little spot in the shade looked all neat and clean again when he left, and it pulled at his heart as it always did, to leave her there and to read her name, Anne Elizabeth Whittaker, on the small tombstone. There was a carving of a little lamb, and it always brought tears to his eyes just to see it.
“Bye kiddo,” he whispered just before he left. “I'll be back soon … I love you …” He still missed her desperately, especially when he came here, and he was quiet when he picked up Maribeth at her house, and she was quick to notice.
“Something wrong?” She glanced at him, she could see that he was upset, and she was instantly worried. “Did something happen?”
“No.” He was touched that she had noticed, and he took a minute to answer. “I went out to clean up …you know …Annie's place at the cemetery today … I go there once in a while …Mom kind of likes me to, and I like going anyway …and I know Mom hates to do it' And then he smiled and glanced over at his friend. She was wearing the big baggy shirt again, but this time with shorts and sandals. “I told her about you. I guess she knows anyway,” he said, feeling comfortable with her again. He liked sharing his secrets with her. There was no hesitation, no shame. She was just there, like an extension of him, or someone he had grown up with.
“I had a dream about her the other night,” Maribeth said, and he looked startled.
“So did I. I dreamt about the two of you walking at the lake. I just felt so peaceful,” he said, and Maribeth nodded.
“I dreamt she was telling me to take care of you, and I promised her I would …kind of like a chain of people …she left and I came, and she asked me to keep an eye on you …and maybe after me someone else …and then …it's like an eternal progression of people coming through our lives. I think that's what I was trying to say the other day. Nothing is forever, but there's a continuing stream of people who go through our lives and continue with us …nothing just stops and stays …but it flows on …like a river. Does that sound crazy?” She turned to him, wondering if her philosophical meanderings sounded foolish, but they didn't. They were both wise beyond their years, with good reason.
“No, it doesn't. I just don't like the part about the progression of people, coming and going in our lives. I'd like it better if people stayed. I wish Annie were still here, and I don't want 'someone else' after you, Maribeth. What's wrong with staying?”
“We can't always do that,” she said, “sometimes we have to move on. Like Annie. We're not always given a choice.” But she had a choice, she and her baby were bound to each other for the moment, but eventually Maribeth would move on, and the baby would go on to its own life, in its own world, with other parents. It seemed as though now, in all their lives, nothing was forever.
“I don't like that, Maribeth. At some point, people have to stay.”
“Some do. Some don't. Some can't. We just have to love them while we can, and learn whatever we're meant to from them.”
“What about us?” he asked, strangely serious for a sixteen-year-old boy. But she was a serious young woman. “Do you suppose we're meant to learn something from each other?”
“Maybe. Maybe we need each other right now,” she said wisely.
“You've already taught me a lot about Annie, about letting go, about loving her wherever she is now, and taking her with me.”
“You've helped me too,” Maribeth said warmly, but not explaining how, and he wondered. And as they drove toward the lake, she felt the baby move again. It had fluttered a number of times since the first time she'd felt it and it was getting to be a familiar and friendly feeling. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before and she liked it.
When they reached the lake, Tommy spread out a blanket he had brought, and Maribeth carried the picnic. She had made egg salad sandwiches, which he said he loved, and chocolate cake, and brought a bagful of fruit, a bottle of milk, which she seemed to drink a lot of these days, and some sodas. They were both hungry and decided to eat right away, and then they lay on the blanket and talked again for a long time, about school this time, and some of his friends, their parents, and their plans. Tommy said he had been to California once, with his dad, to look at produce there, and Florida for the same reason. She had never been anywhere, and said she'd love to see New York and Chicago. And both of them said they would love to see Europe, but Maribeth thought it unlikely she ever would. She had no way to get anywhere in her life, except here, and even this had been a great adventure for her.
They talked about the Korean war too, and the people they knew who had died. It seemed crazy to both of them that they were engaged in another war so soon after the last one. They both remembered when Pearl Harbor had been hit, they had been four. Tommy's father had been too old to enlist, but Maribeth's father had been at Iwo Jima. Her mother had worried the whole time he was gone, but eventually he had come home safely.
“What would you do if you were drafted to go to war?” she asked, and he looked confused by the question.
“Now, you mean? Or when I'm eighteen?” It was a possibility, and only two years away for him, if the police action in Korea wasn't settled.
“Whenever. Would you go?”
Of course. I'd have to.”
“I wouldn't, if I were a man. I don't believe in war,” she said firmly, while he smiled. Sometimes she was funny. She had such definite ideas, and some of them were pretty crazy.
“That's because you're a girl. Men don't have a choice.”
“Maybe they should. Or maybe they will one day. Quakers don't go to war. I think they're smarter than everyone.”
“Maybe they're just scared,” he said, accepting all the traditions he'd ever known, but Maribeth was not willing to accept them. She didn't accept many things, unless she truly believed them.
“I don't think they're scared. I think they're true to themselves and what they believe. I'd refuse to go to war if I were a man,” Maribeth said stubbornly. “War is stupid.”
“No, you wouldn't,” Tommy grinned. “You'd fight, like everyone else. You'd have to.”
“Maybe one day men won't just do what they 'have to.' Maybe they'll question it, and not just do what they're told to.”
“I doubt that. And if they did, it would be chaos. Why should some men go and not others? What would they do? Run away? Hide somewhere? It's impossible, Maribeth. Leave wars to guys. They know what they're doing.”
“That's the trouble. I don't think they do. They just get us into new wars every time they get bored. Look at this one. We just got out of the last one, and we're back in the soup again,” she said disapprovingly, and he laughed.
“Maybe you should run for president,” he teased, but he respected her ideas, and her willingness to be adventuresome in her thinking. There was something very courageous about her.
They decided to go for a walk around the lake then, and on the way back, he asked her if she wanted to go swimming. But she declined again, and he was curious why she never wanted to join him. There was a raft far out in the lake, and he wanted her to swim to it with him, but she just didn't want to do it.
“Come on, tell the truth,” he said finally, “are you afraid of the water? It's no shame if you are. Just say it.”
“I'm not. I just don't want to swim.” She was a good swimmer, but there was no way she was going to take her father's shirt off.
“Then come on in.” It was blazing hot, and she would have liked a cool dip with him, but she knew she couldn't. She was fully four and a half months pregnant. “Just walk into the water with me. It feels great.” She agreed to do that, but go no farther. And the lake was shallow for a long time, so they were fairly far out when it began to drop off sharply. She stopped on a sandy ledge, and he swam out past her toward the raft and then back again, with long, smooth strokes. He had long, powerful arms and legs, and he was a great swimmer. He was back in
minutes, and stood up beside her, where she waited.
“You're a great swimmer,” she said admiringly.
“I was on the team at school last year, but the captain was a jerk. I'm not going to swim with the team this year.” He was eyeing her with mischievous interest as they started to walk back toward shore and he splashed her. “You're a real chicken, you know. You probably swim as well as I do.”
“No, I don't,” she said, trying to duck his splashes. But he was playful with her, and she couldn't resist splashing him, and a moment later, they were like two children, throwing armfuls of water at each other. She was soaking wet, and she lost her footing as she ducked him, and sat down hard in the water. She looked surprised at first, and then she realized she was soaking wet, and there would be no way of getting out of the water without his seeing her protruding stomach. It was too late to salvage the situation, and so she tripped him, and he wound up in the water next to her, and then she swam away from him speedily, but he caught up to her with ease, and they were both spluttering and laughing.
She didn't swim out to the raft with him, but they swam together for a while, as she tried to figure out how to get out of the water gracefully, without having him see her stomach, but she just couldn't figure out how to do it. And then, finally, she told him she was cold, which she wasn't, and asked if he'd go and get her towel. He looked a little surprised, in the warm water and the heat of the afternoon sun, but he went to get it, and held it out to her. But she still had to get out of the water and walk toward him. She wanted to tell him to turn around, but she didn't dare, she just lay in the water looking worried.
“Is something wrong?” She didn't know what to say to him, and finally, reluctantly, she nodded. She hadn't wanted to tell him yet, and didn't know what she would say to him when she did. But she was trapped now. “Can I help?” He looked baffled.
“Not really.”
The Gift Page 10