Prayers for the Dying: Pam of Babylon Book #4

by Suzanne Jenkins

  They moved around the apartment, cleaning up their dinner mess, and then Ashton helped Ted find his aunt’s safe and files. They locked the apartment up and Ash stayed, talking to him, until a cab came. They’d exchanged business cards, and hopefully, something would come of it. Ashton walked home with his scarf up over his mouth, but it couldn’t hide the smile that went all the way to his eyes. A sad day had turned around for both men. Dale would’ve been happy.

  29

  Pam and her children drove home from the restaurant in silence. Everyone went to their own rooms; she could hear them close their doors and that made her sad. She waited for a few minutes and then walked back out to the kitchen. The smell of turkey permeated the house. It was nauseating. She took the phone back to her bedroom and made the calls canceling the dinner, starting with her mother-in-law; they had the farthest to drive. Nelda was angry, but for once, she kept her mouth shut. There would be plenty of time for disclosure later. The only one she was honest with was Jeff, and he felt horrible for her. She promised they would talk on Monday after the kids left for school.

  The atmosphere in the house was worse than if someone had died. The discovery of years of deceit might never be recovered from. Pam knew she was to blame because of stupidity, but she had to find a way to not grovel. She also understood that she may be losing the love and respect of her children, the only two beings in the world that she really loved. She had to take responsibility, and she had to own up to her wrongdoing. It wouldn’t work to feign ignorance. Her kids wouldn’t accept it. Because of it, she had a glimmer of hope. Her kids were not going to tolerate rationalizing. They were going to confront where they had been wronged and try to overcome it. If she became the whipping boy, it was okay. Her skin was thick after Jack’s shenanigans, and she would do anything for her kids, after all. The shocking thing was that she didn’t expect it would be her children with whom she would exercise her new-found strength. Their relationship would probably suffer devastating consequences.

  There was silence from the children’s wing. At four, she took the turkey out of the oven. Going through the motions as she had taught herself to do over the months, she prepared the rest of the traditional dishes her family enjoyed. They would be light on veggies and hors d oeuvres; offerings Jeff and Dave were going to bring. But she always served too much food anyway, and turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce might be enough to lure them out of their bedrooms. She carefully set the table for them, one of the many useless tasks she had performed on their behalf over the years. The knowledge of the absolute frivolity of her life kept slapping her in the face as she moved around her kitchen and dining room, trying to justify her existence. It took so much energy to keep moving with these thoughts tormenting her that she almost gave in and went to her room for a nap. But she wanted to do everything she could to try to make a normal Thanksgiving for them, so she pressed on, knowing it was as much for her as it was for them. She dressed up as she would have if the entire family was still coming, taking extra time with her hair and makeup. When everything was perfect—table, meal, mother—she went to their doors and gently knocked.

  “Dinner’s ready. I hope you’re hungry!” It was the same thing she’d said to them since they were small. They’d be in the den or in the basement recreation room with their friends, and Pam would call to them, “I hope you have a big appetite!” She remembered Brent beaming with pride as he and his friends ran up the steps to join the family around the big pine table. It would be brimming with food, and there was another long harvest table alongside the wall that led to the veranda, and it would be loaded as well. She’d adorned the table with artwork from their grade school art projects: a papier-mâché pumpkin that Brent made in third grade, a construction-paper turkey with a full, colorful tail that Lisa made in first grade. There was a mobile of dried Indian corn that their father had made as a child and that Bernice had parted with. Kernels were missing where a mouse had gotten into Pam’s storage box once, looking for a meal.

  Brent opened his bedroom door and smiled at Pam. “Okay, mom, I’m coming,” he said. He was talking on the phone with his girlfriend who was going to visit, but Brent had cancelled. Lisa was slower to open her door; it looked like she’d fallen asleep. She stepped out of her room and reached for her mother.

  “Sorry mom, that was shitty of me. I must be getting my period,” she explained.

  Brent laughed and said, “Ugh.”

  Pam carefully exhaled a sigh of relief that would go undetected. Maybe she would get out of this without too much ugliness after all. “I’m glad we are alone.”

  “Me too,” Lisa said.

  Pam’s children surrounded her as they walked out into the kitchen. Brent saw the table first. “Oh boy, I love this table,” he said. He looked at Pam and smiled. “I have always loved the Thanksgiving table you make for us.”

  Lisa groaned. “That is so gross! You sound like a decorator, Brent. You better watch it.”

  Their banter was comforting. Brent took the place at the head of the table to carve the turkey, not that it was something that Jack ever did, but he was happy to help out and carving was the only thing he knew he could do. Lisa didn’t have to do anything to help; always the princess. Pam was almost afraid to relax, there were more revelations to be made but maybe they didn’t have to be made today after all. She’d allow the day to unfold as it was supposed to, with no plan.

  Serving dinner ended up being a good thing after all; she was glad she hadn’t abandoned it. Jack’s name didn’t come up once, which was unusual because they liked reminiscing about him. But with the new information, how could they be sure if their memories of him were real? She would have to find a way to get them to remember what was good; they’d said in the past that their childhood was charmed, and most of it was. They helped her clean up afterward. Brent was going to his girlfriend’s house in White Plains and Lisa was headed to a local dive bar for a battle of the bands. Pam thought about calling Jeff and inviting him to come over to avoid being alone with her thoughts. Will this ever end? Thank you again, Jack! I hate you.

  30

  Pam spent Thursday night in solitude, after all. The kids weren’t expected until late. She got into her pajamas early and, looking forward to a night of peace, got her favorite book, a cup of tea, and retreated to her bedroom. She fell asleep sometime after midnight and woke up about two, thinking she heard a key in the front door. A slow smile crept across her face as she heard the rustle of someone undressing, then creeping to bed, and pulling the covers back to get in next to her. She felt his body moving to the middle of the bed, and she rolled over to meet him half way, as was their habit. He reached around her shoulders and pulled Pam to his chest. She could smell the fresh air on him, on his cold skin and in his hair, from driving with his windows down. His lips went to her mouth without skipping a beat and they began to kiss like a perfectly synchronized dance, two people who had kissed like this for all of their adult lives. His tongue separated her lips and skimmed their surfaces tenderly. She felt his hands on the skin of her back, his lips move down along her chin and to her neck and ear. His free hand intertwined with hers, his fingers strong but gentle. She felt his love for her, could feel his caring and desire as his hand released hers and circled her waist, pulling her to him. I love you, Pam. I’ve always loved you.

  A loud crash, a sound that penetrated her brain yet did not exist in reality, woke her with a start, her heart pounding in fright. Sitting up abruptly, she looked next to her at the empty bed, and to the chair where his clothes should be illuminated in the moonlight, but it was empty, too. It had been a dream. Jack was dead. Was it a spiritual apparition, wanting her to receive a message from him? Or her wishful thinking? Desire to make her life meaningful and not a charade? She could almost feel the dampness where his tongue had been on her mouth. She could smell that acrid smell of the car and the wind. Without meaning to, and not wanting to feel it, she started crying. It was so sad! Everyone’s life
was ruined because Jack was a deviant. She wasn’t even able to grieve in peace. The positive thing was that in the morning, she knew she’d feel better. The sporadic night visitations often left her feeling empty, but it was just for the night. She didn’t want it to end because she felt as though he was trying to help her keep an eye on what had been positive and good about their life together. It wasn’t all horrible, was it? She reached over and turned the bedside light on. It was almost three. She got up and put her robe on. She’d make a cup of herbal tea and check to see if the kids were home. She went out to the mudroom and saw that the alarm was on. The last person in always set the alarm. The phantom hadn’t tripped it. Carefully opening their bedroom doors, she saw they were in bed, safe and sound. A few more nights and they would be gone. Could she play make-believe until they left? Pretend everything was the same? Or would they demand the truth? Make her do penance for being a shitty mother? Making tea in her kitchen was a familiar task. She took it to the den but didn’t turn the lights on. Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see the landscape lighting through the big window, the dune grass that lined the path to the beach, and the moonlight on the dark sea. She could hear the waves as they broke on the beach, but gentle tonight, not the crashing hits they made earlier in the week. A method to promote sanity, thinking about these little vignettes in the minutia of life made her grateful. She had so much to be thankful for. She was strong enough to take responsibility and her love for her kids was big enough no matter how they responded to her.

  Daylight brought reality. Pam had fallen asleep on the leather davenport in the den and woke up to find a fully dressed, grim-faced Lisa standing over her. Without greeting her, she simply said, “I’m going back to Oahu, Mom. A friend is picking me up in ten minutes for the airport.”

  Pam sat up, staring at Lisa, the resolve she’d felt in the dark of night crumbling. She fought the urge to beg her child to stay home, to work things out, to listen to reason. But what was reason? It was all emptiness, lies, and excuses. There was nothing more to be said. Pam reached out to take Lisa’s hand.

  “Okay, honey,” she said. “Do you want a cup of coffee first?”

  She could almost see Lisa’s shoulders sag. “That would be nice,” she admitted.

  Pam went to stand up and Lisa put her hand under her arm to give her a boost. They both started laughing. It was a moment between a mother and daughter. Everything might be okay, but not right now. They walked into the kitchen and Lisa slid onto the counter stool while Pam fixed coffee for them. The last moments would be spent peacefully. Nothing would be resolved, but a time-honored tradition of morning coffee would smooth over the pain for a while. They weren’t going bring up any painful topics, so Pam enjoyed the pleasure of being in her daughter’s company. Checking tears that welled up repeatedly, they were able to talk of immediate needs, money for books, health insurance cards, safe topics until the lights of the getaway car swept over the house.

  Lisa slid off the stool and put her cup down. She went to Pam and embraced her warmly, but didn’t say anything else, or make promises of forgiveness or give pat answers. Pam walked with her to the front door, and when Lisa walked out toward the car, Pam had to fight the urge to run after her, to beg her to stay home. Lisa didn’t wave good-bye or even look at the house. If she was crying, it wasn’t evident. Pam imagined she was speaking of relief to her friend. The sadness flowed over her as she closed and locked the door. Never in a million years did she ever think this sort of thing would happen to her. It was the worst—worse than Jack, worse than Marie, worse than her own guilt over sins of omission. The devastation of having a child angry with her made her physically ill. Only the presence of Brent kept her on her feet. Surely, if he came out with a similar story, she would kill herself; no, nothing that dramatic, but she would take to her bed. Staying upright would be too painful.

  Fortunately, Brent wasn’t leaving yet. He was quiet; he was the more serious one. “Lisa told me she was leaving early, and I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how stubborn she is,” he said. They wouldn’t spend the weekend talking about Lisa. Brent talked to Pam about leaving UCLA and transferring to a school closer to home, but Pam, trying to be unselfish, told him to stay in California until he graduated in June and then if he wanted to come home to look for a job, he was welcome. She felt it was best for him; maybe not for her, but for him. She didn’t mention Lane, Smith and Romney because Sandra hadn’t called again or sent a proposal as she had said she would, so maybe she’d changed her mind. Young people were getting on Pam’s nerves.

  Although Brent stayed in New York, he didn’t stay in Babylon. He spent Friday morning at home and then went to his girlfriend’s house in White Plains Friday afternoon, and didn’t come home until early Sunday morning. It was young love. In the past, the girlfriend would’ve come to the beach for the weekend. Pam was feeling somewhat the pariah. She didn’t have girlfriends to bounce ideas off of, but women’s magazines often had articles in which mothers complained about feeling left out of their children’s lives. Widows especially felt abandoned by their kids. Pam wasn’t going there. And as much as she had tried to avoid it, she felt the old survival tools chipping away. Soon, she would be numb. Soon, even her own children wouldn’t have the power to hurt her.

  31

  Sandra and Tom played house for the weekend. Finally, on Sunday morning, the time was right for Sandra to bring up her dilemma about the business. She was going to offer a proposal to Tom, and his answer would determine a lot of what the future might bring for them as a couple. She laid out their short history of what she felt she had changed for him, both those things in her control, like her relationship with Pam which Tom felt threatened by, and those out of her control, like the loss of baby Ellin.

  “I appreciate how wonderful you were when I lost her. I never would have survived that experience without you,” she said. “But we have to talk out this business issue. I know it bothers you, but then I got the mixed message when you told Gwen, with pride, that I ran a business. What is it? Do you resent it? Or do you like the idea of it?”

  Tom looked baffled. “Honest to God, I have no friggin’ idea what you are talking about.”

  “It’s not my imagination that you get an attitude when I come home and share what’s going on at work. It’s all I do, Tom. I don’t have any hobbies, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have the time.”

  “Look, if that’s true, just ignore me. It doesn’t mean anything,” he said.

  “No! I will not ignore you. We need to deal with it right now,” Sandra exclaimed. “If you are treating me in a way that makes me feel bad, and it revolves around something that is integral to my life, it needs to change. I’m making you aware of it so you can do something about it, because if you feel that negative about me owning the business, I’ll sell it. I’ve already talked to my attorney about it.”

  Tom got up and started pacing. She didn’t say anymore to him. The ball was in his court, so to speak. Finally, he stopped and turned to look at her.

  “Maybe I am reacting because it was ‘his’ business. But that’s no reason for you to give it up unless you want to. I worry because you are stressed. Usually when you come home and tell me what your day was like, it’s full of crap; people yelling, things going wrong, your partner being a prick. If I get an attitude, maybe that’s why. I don’t expect you to sell the damn thing, please believe me,” Tom pleaded. “Besides, didn’t I just apologize to you on Thursday for being jealous?”

  Sandra saw where the problem might lie; he was trying to help her fix her work issues, just like a man would. It was nothing more than the battle of the sexes, after all.

  “Wow, this is intense,” she said with a laugh. “I think this is called ‘working your problems out.’ I promise to start buffering the negative with some positive. Do you think that will help?”

  “Yes, and I promise to try to support you instead of being sarcastic,” he said. They hugged and continued on thei
r day. It seemed so easy and so perfect.

  Steve and Marie got back to his apartment by early afternoon, having stopped off at a deli first. They would have corned beef on rye with pickles and chips for Thanksgiving dinner. Marie was getting around without trouble, and taking care of herself, rather than asking Steve to wait on her. She wanted to prove to him that she’d be alright alone next week when he went back to work. She wanted him to see that she did not require Nelda’s care or a trip uptown. She wanted to work, too.

  The nurse came on Friday morning and hung an IV bag of dirty brown fluid. It was attached to some kind of pump that regulated the speed that it infused. It was powerful stuff, the woman said. Cardio toxic if it went in too fast. And Marie was such a frail little thing that it was even more important to make sure it was done absolutely properly. Marie allowed the nurse to pamper her a little; Steve saw and chuckled. Whatever anyone else could do was less that he had to do.

  “While the nurse is here, I think I’ll step out for a minute,” he said, grabbing his coat and not wasting any time. Marie looked at him with a sneer.

  “Tell her I said ‘hi’,” she said.

  Steve laughed. “Yeah, right! I’m such a prize,” he said. He bent over to kiss her and Marie put her hand up to his cheek. She loved him as much as she was capable of loving another human being. He patted her belly. “Bye, baby.”

  He walked quickly to a dive bar around the block from his place. It was full for morning, regulars yelling, “Hey Steve,” and waving at him. He perched on a stool and ordered a beer with a chaser.