by Luanne Rice
“The doctor tells me I can’t keep Pem with me any longer,” Honora said. “Did Georgie tell you that?”
“I know. It’s hard to believe.” Nick said. He watched Honora intently, knowing the subject was hard for her; his eyes looked as sad as hers, and I loved him for it.
“Well, to hell with the doctor,” Honora said. “I’ve given it a great deal of thought, lying in here. I have always intended for Pem to live on Bennison Point all her life. She has the right—she and my father bought the land, built the houses for us to enjoy. I want her at home.”
Although Honora’s decision thrilled me, I knew I had to speak carefully. Maybe she wanted to be talked out of it; I remembered her frustration with Pem before her heart attack. The bed-wetting, the sandwich-hiding, the bathing scene, Pem’s pugilism. “What about your health, Mom? The doctor said that having Pem around might be too stressful,” I said, even though, deep down, I didn’t believe that was so—we could hire someone to help feed and bathe Pem.
“She’s my mother, and we’ve been together for all these years. I think it would be more stressful for me to put her in a nursing home. That I will not do.”
Nick cleared his throat. In fine lawyerly fashion, he liked to hear all the facts before giving his opinion. “On the other hand, mightn’t Pem get better care at a nursing home? We all love her, and we hate to see her sad or unhappy, but she’s in pretty bad shape. This morning she made toast for herself, carried it into the living room, went to the window, forgot she had made the toast, went to the kitchen to make more. The toaster wouldn’t work the way she wanted it to, so she held down the lever until it started to smoke, and she blew a fuse.”
“She did? You didn’t tell me,” I said.
Honora held up her hands, to stop the discussion. “I know all that. That’s why I make her breakfast every morning. She’s just forgetful.”
“She could have started a fire,” Nick said. “What if we hadn’t been there? If the fuse hadn’t blown, the house might have burned down.”
“If, if,” Honora said. “The point is, I’m always there. When I leave the house, it’s after Pem has been fed, and then I turn off the kitchen appliances at the fuse box.”
“And you hide the gin, and you lock the gate to the street, and you make her go to the toilet before you leave,” I said, thinking of some of the things I had vaguely noticed but not considered significant.
“That’s a lot of work for someone who’s just had a serious heart attack,” Nick said. “And I’m not sure anyone you might hire to help out would be willing to take on what amounts to twenty-four hours a day of babysitting.”
Honora’s stony expression convinced me to change the subject. “Well, it’s a beautiful day out. Nick picked the best weekend in weeks. It’s just like autumn.”
“That’s right,” Honora said, glancing out the window at the blue sky. “You two get going. Thanks for visiting, but I want you to have a really super day together.”
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Nick said, standing at the head of her bed. “But I love you, and I want you to live a long time. I think you should follow your doctor’s advice.”
Honora squeezed his hand, smiling up at him. “I’m just afraid it would be a half-life if I had to think of her in one of those places. I don’t think I could manage it.”
“I think you’d adjust,” Nick said, and I wanted to pull him out the door, to make him stop trying to convince Honora that Pem belonged in a home. I wanted our family together, so badly that I might have sacrificed Honora’s health to do it.
NICK’S MOOD CHANGED DRASTICALLY. Entering the hospital, we had been happy, in love. Leaving, he looked cross. He glared at me for spending too long in front of the gift shop’s showcase. We drove slowly home along side roads. We had traveled this way often before. I stared out the window, feeling sad, wondering what Nick was thinking. He drove with a little frown on his face.
“Were you shocked by the way she looks?” I asked after a while.
“Yes, I was,” Nick said. “Seeing Honora like that changes everything. It gives you the idea nothing is permanent.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” I said, thinking of my old fears of being left: fears that belonged two days in the past, before Nick came home from London.
“You should have thought of that before you kissed the photographer,” Nick said.
“Nick!” I leaned across the gearshift to touch his wrist. The wrist was taut; he gripped the wheel with both hands. “Nick,” I said again, in a softer voice.
Nick stopped the car in a dusty turnaround beside a salt marsh. He continued to grip the wheel, as though he were still driving. Although it wasn’t hot, Nick’s black hair curled sweatily at his temples.
“Are you telling me we’re not permanent?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’m upset. Honora was fine when I left for London, and now she’s in the hospital—it’s got me thinking. Maybe I should ask what you’re telling me,” Nick said. “Last night I walked in on you having dinner with another man. That’s weird enough, but it’s no big deal—I know that. But I can’t believe you kissed him, Georgie.”
“I’m sorry.”
“This is serious trouble. We’ve been playing a little—you always worrying about Jean and me letting you. It’s unrealistic. Do you realize how guilty you’ve made me feel about her? The entire time in London. If she came to work wearing a pretty dress and I happened to notice, I felt guilty. She rubbed my shoulders at the office one night, and I felt guilty.”
“She rubbed your shoulders?” I asked, wondering whether a backrub was more innocent than a kiss.
“She did. And it felt really good, because I’d been sitting at the desk for ten hours straight. You know how that can happen? We’d been together for hours—we’re together late at night. She noticed my shoulders looked tense. It was a nice gesture.”
“Nice gesture? How naive can you be?” I asked.
Nick exhaled, sounding impatient and disgusted. “Do you think you’re the only one who can be attracted to someone else? Jean’s pretty, and she likes to flirt with me. I liked her rubbing my neck, Georgie. I imagined something else happening—going back to the hotel with her maybe. But I didn’t. And I never kissed her.” He exhaled again. “I’d like to punch that guy, with his blond hair.” Somehow Nick managed to make blond hair sound like the worst affliction on earth. “Platinum blond and tan. A regular surfer. Ten years too late on the wrong coast.”
I reached for Nick’s wrist, and this time he let me pry his hand off the wheel. “I’m sorry I kissed Mark. It will never happen again,” I said. “Will you forgive me? So we can have a good time before you go back to London?”
“Yes,” he said.
Still, I had to know. “Nick, did you really want to go home with Jean?”
“For a second—yes.”
“I know,” I said, realizing what I had known all along: that Jean was pretty and Nick would be likely to notice. Maybe even feel attracted to her. A little. Naturally.
“But you’re the one for me,” he said.
I nodded and he put his arms around me, and when we kissed we both were crying.
“Honora having a heart attack,” he said. “It’s so fucking unpredictable. She’s too healthy for that.”
“She’s getting better,” I said.
BACK AT THE POINT we swam again, trying to get back to feeling comfortable with each other. We walked across Honora’s yard to our house, planned which room would be the baby’s nursery. I envisioned wallpaper covered with lambs or bunnies, a white crib, a shelf full of Beatrix Potter books. When the baby was old enough to look out the window, he or she would see Clare’s house across the bay, the rocky headland pointing toward Long Island. My baby could send flashlight messages in Morse code to Eugene and Casey.
That night we invited the Mackens to dinner. They left us alone all that day; although surprised and delighted Nick was home, and eager to see him, they wanted to give us ti
me alone. We made the rounds of the fish market, the vegetable stands, the cheese and liquor stores, the bakery. Back in the car, I said, “Take two. Tell me about London.”
“It’s some tender offer, I’ll tell you,” Nick said. “Loaded with important issues, and John has left me and Jean pretty much on our own.”
“You and Jean have equal responsibility?”
“I was in charge before I left London. That’s one reason I have to get back right away—so I can reclaim my turf. Jean’s incredibly competitive.”
“John Avery spoke highly of her,” I said. “He said you two work well together.”
“We do a good job of playing ‘good cop, bad cop’ in negotiations. Jean pretends to hold out for a minor point, then finally gives in on it, in order to save the major ones.”
“That’s an interesting tactic,” I said.
“It’s a little like a poker game,” Nick said. “You have to keep a straight face. Anyway, the clients are happy so far.”
“I’m really glad,” I said, breathing easier. Every conversation seemed a milestone toward a return to normal relations.
15
DINNER THAT NIGHT WAS RAUCOUS AND festive. We all felt berserk with the solace of Nick’s arrival and Honora’s imminent release from the hospital. Eugene and Casey presented us with two buckets of mussels gathered from the rocks, and we steamed them with white wine and shallots. Frank Sinatra made us want to dance; we turned up the music and hoofed up a storm. When the stars came out, we lay on our backs in the yard, testing the boys on the constellations. Pem sat in a lawn chair, wrapped in a blanket, complaining about the chill, but we wanted her with us.
Later, in the kitchen doing dishes, Nick and I made our announcement.
“Georgie and I are having a baby,” Nick said.
“When did you find out?” Clare yelled, tackling me with a hug.
“Just yesterday,” I said.
“Oh, I’m so happy for you,” Clare said.
“Having kids changes you,” Donald said solemnly.
“Honey, don’t scare them,” Clare said.
“No, I just mean the experience makes you richer. It adds another dimension to your relationship,” Donald said, sounding rather stilted. “I’m not saying it right, but I mean it’s good.”
“He’s still shook up about Mom,” Clare explained, reaching up to stroke his cheek with the back of her hand.
“Aunt Georgie, are you having a baby?” Casey asked.
“Yes, I am. You and Eugene will have a cousin to play with.”
“Can I feel the baby kick?” Eugene asked, staring intently at my abdomen. Bits of grass stuck in his red hair; I picked a few out.
“The baby’s not big enough to kick yet,” I said.
“Why, honey?” Clare asked. “Do you remember when we felt Casey kick?”
“Yeah. Now I get to kick him back,” Eugene said, running after his brother.
“Mommmmmy!” Casey called. Donald went after them.
“Some of the joys you have to look forward to,” she said wryly.
“Honora seems thrilled,” Nick said. “We’re going to call my parents tonight.”
“Get ready for endless seminars on How To Do Everything Right. Whether or not to breast-feed, which books to buy them, the right approach to preschool . . . everyone has an opinion. My relationship with Honora changed quite a bit after I had Eugene,” she said.
“For better or worse?” I asked.
Clare frowned, trying to formulate her answer. “Hard to say. She drives me crazy, worrying about every blessed thing I do. I remember when we took Eugene sailing for the first time—I think she stayed on her knees that whole day, praying to the saints and apostles that he would survive. If you think she worries now, wait till you have kids. She has the most gruesome imagination of any grandmother alive. She doesn’t just worry—she worries in detail.”
“I know. I remember that day,” Nick said. “You sailed to Fisher’s Island, and we had Honora and Pem for dinner. She kept saying, ‘What if he falls overboard, he’s so little.’ ”
“That’s right,” I said, remembering. “She wanted to know how long it would take to bring the boat around, and then she started to worry about his life jacket, how no life jacket could possibly be small enough to stay on him—it would slip off, and he would sink, and you and Donald would be so devastated when you found his empty jacket. That led to worries that you might feel so guilty your marriage would break up, or you might commit joint suicide.”
“Well, her worrying is nothing new. On the other hand, my motherhood brought us closer, because it’s a major experience we share. That means a lot to me.” Clare regarded me carefully, as if she had something else to say.
“What?” I asked.
“Well, I was just thinking, that aspect of it might mean more to me than you. Having children is my biggest connection to her.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s funny. Honora started off thinking you and I would set the world on fire, but then you refused to go to college. So she concentrated on me, but all I cared about was nesting—staying home with Donald and the boys. I think that opened her eyes to you. She considers you an unconventional success, and I think she’s prouder of that than if you were teaching at MIT.”
“Oh, come on,” I said.
“No, it’s true. Even the bay profile—she thought that was wonderful. And the Swift Observatory! You’ve seen the way she feels about that.”
“Maybe I’ll go outside and throw the Frisbee around with Don and the boys,” Nick said. They had a fluorescent Frisbee, bright enough to see on the darkest night. I knew he wanted to leave me and Clare alone, give us a sisterly interlude; although I appreciated that, I had begun to realize that he would have to leave for London tomorrow, and our time together could be measured in hours and minutes.
“Let him play,” Clare told me, watching me watch him leave. “He’s been sitting in offices a long time. He needs to move around.”
“I was dying to tell you about the baby, but of course I had to wait for Nick. He came home the night I found out. Isn’t that unbelievable?”
“You two send each other vibes—I’ve always said that.”
“Too bad my vibes couldn’t have kept him away until Mark left. That was unfortunate.”
“Well, it’s not your fault. You tried to cancel dinner with Mark. I nearly died when I looked out my window and saw you standing there with some guy. I hope you didn’t mind me running over, but I had to take a look. He’s cute. I can see how you might have swooned for a minute.”
“Have you ever swooned for someone besides Donald?”
“Oh, sure. My obstetrician, for one. But nothing physical has ever happened between us. Except, of course, what you’d expect. But once I kissed Henry McPhee after a softball game. Of course I don’t have your scruples, so it never seemed very serious to me.”
“Did Donald find out?”
“I never told him. Lord, don’t say you confessed to Nick—”
“I did.”
Clare giggled. “You are too much. And he was destroyed, I suppose?”
“Yes,” I said defensively.
Clare was laughing so hard she choked. I pounded her on the back, harder than necessary because she made me so mad. Always making light of my scruples. She whooped, trying to collect herself enough to say something.
“So now you’re pregnant, and you’re both hoping this baby will keep you together, save your marriage from foundering on that kiss. . . .” She went into another laughing fit.
“All right, enough is enough,” I said, when she showed no signs of stopping. Then she kissed my forehead.
“Georgie, you’re the only person I know who would have an affair to save your marriage,” she said, trying to sound solemn but continuing to giggle. “For years you’ve been driving yourself crazy imagining that every woman is out to snare Nick into adultery. Finally your paranoia gets him so frustrated, he gives you
an ultimatum and leaves for London. You’re left alone. You develop an attraction to the first man you spend a little time alone with. You then tease yourself into a flirtation, which I humbly submit was one big test.”
“What was I testing?”
“You were testing just how far you would let yourself go, because you thought it would show you how far Nick would let himself go.”
“Do you think Nick has ever kissed anyone?” I asked sharply.
Clare shook her head. “That’s not the point, and you know it. Didn’t your little test teach you anything?”
“Yes,” I said, thinking of the talk Nick and I had had in the car, feeling calm because I no longer feared Jean Snizort.
“Honey, this has liberated you,” Clare said, pouring tonic water into two wineglasses, raising hers to toast. We clinked. I did feel liberated.
“If only Nick weren’t leaving tomorrow, I’d feel perfect,” I said.
“What time is his plane?”
“Seven at night.”
“Donald told me Nick’s big cheese on the tender offer, that he’s doing very well on it.”
“That’s the idea. This tender offer is a test for Nick, speaking of tests. But it’ll be over Thursday, and he’ll come home for good then. That’s not such a long time to wait,” I said.
“Nah, you can stand it. You guys planning to do natural childbirth?”
“I guess so. I thought everyone did it nowadays.”
“Poor Mom, she told me she was knocked out for both our births. One of the most important events in a woman’s life, and she isn’t allowed to witness it.”
“That’s awful. I didn’t know that.”
“Those are the sort of confidences that made me feel closer to her after I had the boys. Maybe you dread her worrying, but you can look forward to long mother-daughter chats,” Clare said.
“That sounds nice.” Clare and I finished drying the dishes. We stacked the plates in Honora’s neat cabinets. Pem shuffled into the kitchen, saw that we were there, and shuffled out. “In search of a sandwich,” I said.
“Pem enjoyed herself tonight.”