Better late than never, she thought. Right, Dad?
CHAPTER 23
Tamsin was keeping her mother company while she prepared dinner. Life on Crescent Road, Gincy thought, at least for the moment, had come down to a cycle of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, followed once again by breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Eat. Repeat. But with a seventy-eight-year-old depressed woman who needed encouragement to eat and a house that had been let go to clean and organize, there wasn’t much time for fun and games.
Not that Ellen Gannon had ever been one for fun and games. Not as far as Gincy knew.
“Why did you ask your grandmother why she married your grandfather?” Gincy asked, searching for a slotted spoon in a drawer crowded with too many cheap cooking utensils.
Tamsin shrugged. “I guess I thought that maybe she would open up a bit. Talk about how she’s feeling, about missing Grandpa. But she didn’t, did she?”
“She was never one to talk about feelings. Opinions? She’s always been full of those and ready to share them with anyone within earshot. Not so much feelings.”
Tamsin laughed. “Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t laugh, but when Grandma and I were alone before, she told me for like the millionth time that she missed out on having Appleville’s first baby of the new year because you were so stubborn and refused to come out.”
“See what I mean?” Gincy said, grinning. “Opinions. Anyway, I don’t think I had much of a choice about coming out or staying in.”
“You know what I was thinking about last night, before I fell asleep?”
“No.”
“I was thinking about the time when you and Dad went away for a weekend to celebrate your anniversary. I think I was seven or eight and, remember, I stayed here with Grandma and Grandpa.”
Gincy smiled. “I do remember that. Your father and I went to Newport. We had dinner that Saturday night at a restaurant that’s been around since the seventeenth century. We had beef Wellington. It was one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten.”
“Well we went to the ice-cream parlor after dinner one night,” Tamsin said. “Grandma didn’t want Grandpa and me to order the Kitchen Sink. She said that we’d never finish it and that it was a shameful waste of money. That’s the word she used, shameful. I remember it because I’d never heard it before, and later on I had to ask Justin what it meant. Anyway, Grandpa went ahead and ordered it. Have you ever had the Kitchen Sink, Mom? You’d totally remember if you did.”
Gincy shook her head. “I guess the answer is no.”
“It’s a gigantic bowl with a bunch of ice-cream scoops—vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, and maybe coffee, I can’t remember—with chocolate and caramel sauce and whipped cream, and nuts, and bananas. And they sprinkle all these tiny plastic animals in it. The waiters brought it to the table on something like a stretcher, and they sang some song, I forget what, and people clapped. Oh, yeah, and there were sparklers. Anyway, Grandpa and I dug in—they give you these special, really long spoons, I mean the handles are long—and eventually Grandma pushed aside the bowl of vanilla ice cream she had ordered and joined in.”
“Grandma joined in?” Gincy asked. She was more than a little dubious. “I mean, I know she loves to eat, but the Kitchen Sink? That sort of mess is far more my kind of thing. Are you sure you’re remembering that correctly?”
“Absolutely. It was so much fun. We all laughed like crazy. Grandma lined up all the little plastic animals we found in the bowl and said that they were on parade because they were celebrating your anniversary, yours and Dad’s. I’d never seen her like that. So . . . How can I put it? So happy?”
Gincy shook her head. “You never told me that story. Why?”
Tamsin shrugged. “I didn’t? I guess I thought that I had. Anyway, now you know.”
Yes, Gincy thought. Now I know.
“Is Tommy coming back tonight?” Tamsin asked.
“No idea,” Gincy answered. But she thought it would be nice if he did.
“Mom? I was thinking. Why doesn’t Uncle Tommy move back in here with Grandma? She’s lonely and he has so little money. And I know he’s not seeing anyone, because I asked him. In fact, it was kind of sad what he said, that those days were over, like he’s given up on being in love. Anyway, it seems like the perfect plan for Tommy and Grandma to live here together.”
“The idea has occurred to me, too,” Gincy admitted. “But I don’t think it’s as simple as all that. First, Grandma might not want him here. She might worry that he’d turn out to be a burden rather than a help around the house. And I’m not saying anything bad about your uncle, Tamsin. Just that he’s not used to being needed and relied upon, and Grandma’s not used to asking for his help. Living together might really damage their relationship.”
“But what if Grandma does want him to come home?” Tamsin pressed.
Gincy sighed. “I’ve thought about that, too. And I don’t know, I suspect that Tommy needs what little independence he’s been able to forge for himself. He was a boy in this house, until he moved out, and that was a long time coming. Moving back home now . . . it might feel as if he had suddenly become an old man. It might feel as if the cycle of his life had come full turn, that his life was in some way over. It might damage his pride. Do you see what I mean?”
“Sort of. But it’s just guessing, isn’t it? We don’t know what Grandma or Uncle Tommy feel about living here together, do we?”
“No,” Gincy admitted. “We don’t. We don’t really know much at all.”
CHAPTER 24
Gincy had made pork chops with applesauce and buttered egg noodles for dinner. Her father had loved that meal, something she hadn’t remembered until the pork chops were almost done. She hoped her mother wouldn’t be upset by the memories the meal might bring. It was hard to know what might set a person who was grieving so privately into a downward spiral. If you went around tearing your hair and crying out, “Another pork chop will never cross my lips!” a person would be pretty sure not to serve you a pork chop.
“Are you finished snooping through my papers?” Ellen asked, spooning applesauce onto her plate.
“I wasn’t snooping,” Gincy said. Her mother had really eaten the Kitchen Sink? “You gave them to me.”
“Against my will.”
Gincy saw Tamsin give her a warning look. She thought about the parade of little plastic animals. Fun and games. Above all, be kind.
“Well, to answer your question,” she said, “yes, I have finished. The file is over there on the counter, next to the toaster oven.”
“Where it’s likely to catch fire!”
“The toaster oven isn’t plugged in, Grandma.”
“Well, it should be. Who unplugged it? And did you find anything wrong?” Ellen demanded. “Did I mislay thousands of dollars or forget to pay another bill?”
“Nothing’s wrong that I can see. You’ve been doing a fine job of it all, Mom.”
Ellen looked smug. “I told you so. Tommy never should have told you about that electric bill. He promised.”
“But then we wouldn’t have come to see you,” Tamsin said. Hurriedly she added, “I mean, we would have come anyway, because it’s Christmas. You are glad we’re here, aren’t you, Grandma?”
“Yes, Tamsin,” she said, slicing a piece of pork chop. “I’m glad you’re here. This pork chop is very tasty, Virginia.”
Gincy smiled. “How do you like that book I brought home from the library?” she asked. “The new mystery series, the one about the ladies who sell crepes from a food truck and solve crime along the way. Where’s it set? Seattle, I think.”
“I haven’t started to read it yet.”
“Have you met any nice women at your church, Grandma?” Tamsin asked.
Ellen didn’t look up from her meal. “Of course there are nice women at church.”
“That’s not really what Tamsin asked,” Gincy said.
“What I mean is do you see any of them outside of church, like for lunch or to pl
ay cards or bingo or something?”
“Some of the ladies meet for bridge once a week,” Ellen said, “but it doesn’t interest me.”
“Bridge?” Gincy asked, thinking of her earlier conversation with Tommy about their parents’ social life. “Or the women?”
“Will you pass the noodles, Tamsin?” Ellen asked.
Tamsin did.
“Mom? What ever happened to that friend of yours, Sally something?”
Ellen looked puzzled. “Sally?”
“Yes, you remember,” Gincy said. “The woman you used to go to the movies with. She had red hair.”
“Oh,” Ellen said. “Sarah. Virginia, that was years and years ago! Sarah and her husband were divorced when you were about fifteen. She moved to Concord to live with her sister.”
“Do you keep up with her, Grandma?” Tamsin asked.
Ellen frowned. “No. I’m afraid it’s not that easy to stay in touch with people when they move away. . . .”
“But there’s the phone,” Tamsin said. “And now there’s e-mail and texting and Facebook. There are all sorts of ways you can be in touch with people!”
“Your grandmother doesn’t have a computer,” Gincy pointed out. “Or an iPhone.”
“And I don’t have any interest in either one,” Ellen said firmly.
Tamsin opened her mouth, no doubt to offer another helpful suggestion, but Gincy silenced her with a small shake of her head. To Gincy at least, the message was clear. Ellen Gannon had chosen to isolate herself since her husband’s death, and perhaps, as Tommy thought might be the case, even before that, at least to some extent. And that was understandable, if her husband had been her best friend. A husband who was his wife’s best friend would be impossible to replace, and it would work the other way around, too. Ellen and Ed Gannon can’t have been the only couple to find in each other’s companionship all, or almost all, of what they needed from other people.
Is that the case with Rick and me, Gincy wondered? Are we perhaps too closely bound together? If Rick were to die, would I survive on my own?
Gincy felt her hand tighten around her fork. It didn’t bear thinking about.
“Virginia?”
“Yes, Mom,” she said.
“What have you brought in for dessert?”
Gincy was very glad for the change of subject.
“We have ice cream,” she said. “Two flavors, chocolate and maple walnut. You could have a scoop of each, if you like.”
Ellen Gannon frowned and lowered her fork. “Who ever heard of such a thing, two different flavors of ice cream together?”
Tamsin found a sudden need to bury her face in her napkin. Her shoulders began to shake suspiciously.
“I wouldn’t serve you both scoops in the same bowl,” Gincy said, eyes wide.
Her mother resumed her meal. “Well,” she said. “I should hope not.”
CHAPTER 25
“Imiss you.”
“Me too,” Rick said. “I hate it when we’re not together. Everything feels—wrong.”
“I hate it, too. It’s a good thing we both feel the same way. I’m sure there are lots of couples who actually enjoy time apart.”
“Ugh,” Rick said. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’d rather be with my wife than without her, even when she’s in one of her cantankerous moods.”
“Me? Cantankerous?” Gincy laughed. “Never. By the way, have you been watering the tree? You know how quickly it will get dry.”
“I’ve been watering the tree.”
“Good.” And that important fact ascertained, she listened while her husband recounted the events of his day.
“We got snow,” he told her. “Not much, a few inches, but enough to make the Gardens and the Commons look beautiful. Well, more beautiful.”
“And work is all right?” she asked. “And your health? You haven’t caught a cold or anything? You haven’t fallen on the ice?”
“I’m happy to report that work is fine and so am I. Same as I was yesterday at this time. Don’t worry about me, Gincy. Okay, your turn.”
“I went through Mom’s finances. Well, I snooped. That’s her word. And everything is in order. The forgotten electric bill seems to have been a lone incident.”
“Good,” Rick said. “So we can put that concern aside for the moment.”
“Not so fast. I still haven’t asked about what financial help Mom might be giving Tommy.” Gincy sighed. “I don’t know, Rick. Maybe that’s something you could handle, if you feel comfortable about it. I mean, maybe you could talk to Tommy about his financial situation. I don’t want to embarrass him any more than I probably already did when I asked him the other night if he needed money. He said no, by the way. And if I ask Mom what she’s been doing for Tommy, I’m pretty sure she’ll stalemate.”
“I’ll do what I can to help, of course,” Rick said. “We do need to know.”
“Thank you, Rick,” Gincy said. “I mean it. And there’s something else I need to talk about.”
“I’m listening.”
“Earlier, when I was going through Mom’s checkbook, it kind of startled me to see my father’s name on the checks. Well, of course his name is there. Mom doesn’t write that many checks and it’ll be a while before she goes through the supply she has. But it’s disturbing when you come across the vestiges of a life that’s over, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Rick agreed. “I’ve told you about that first year after Annie passed. Memories assault you from so many places at once, it feels like a miracle that you’re still standing. It was a good thing I had Justin to focus on. That helped me get through more than anything else could.”
Gincy sighed. “Oh, Rick, you know all about grieving. The voice on the answering machine. The mail that keeps coming, addressed to someone no longer there to receive it. I found a flyer from Home Depot addressed to my father this morning and threw it out before Mom could see it. Anyway, it’s disturbing, and yet you don’t want those vestiges to be wiped away. It’s like, as long as my father’s name is on the checks, as long as his shirts are hanging in the bedroom closet and not given to the charity shop—by the way, I talked to Mom about passing them on, but she’s having none of it—anyway, as long as Dad’s worktable is set up in the basement and his old copies of Popular Mechanics are still there, he isn’t entirely gone. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s the way it is.”
“I’m sorry it’s so difficult,” Rick said gently. “Being there in that house. But I’m afraid there’s no way it couldn’t be difficult. And this experience, of being the survivor, comes to each one of us at some point in time. Well, to most of us.”
“I know. I just keep thinking of what my mother must be feeling, every single moment of every single day. A terrible longing. Emptiness. How does she pass the hours knowing that her husband is never coming home, that they’ll never share the same bed, that he’ll never accompany her to church on Sundays, that he’ll never even walk down the aisle of the grocery store with her? Do you think that’s one reason Mom has been avoiding shopping for food? Because it reminds her too much of the comfortable daily life she shared with Dad?”
“I think it’s possible, Gincy, yes. Memories are everywhere, even in the bread aisle.”
“How is she even managing to put one foot in front of the other,” Gincy went on, “day after lonely day? It’s not like she has a child to care for, like you did with Justin, someone on whom she can focus her love and attention. Even Tommy’s got a life of his own. Sometimes she doesn’t see him for days on end.”
Rick sighed. “The human spirit is strong. The will to live is primal. People go on. I don’t know exactly how it works, Gincy. I wish I did.”
“Me too. Rick, don’t die, okay?”
“Uh, okay. I mean, I’m not planning on it any time soon.”
“Good. I’ll try not to die, either. I mean, before I’m really old.”
“Well, now that we have that settled,” Rick said, “tell me, is your mother any worse than
when you got there?”
“Well, she still won’t say anything directly about missing Dad, but she’s definitely better than she was a few days ago.” Gincy laughed. “Now that she has me to kick around.”
“I’m going to float an idea here, Gincy, and I want you to consider it. I think your mother needs you. I think she’s glad you’re back home. And I think the only way she can express herself with you, for whatever wacky reasons, is by criticizing and being a curmudgeon, kind of like what she did with your father.”
“That’s insane!” Gincy cried. “Need me?” she said in a lower voice. “She’s never needed me.”
“Are you so sure about that?”
“Yes,” Gincy said. “It’s crazy. You need someone so you drive her away by your negativity? That’s pretty much what she did with me, right from the start.”
Well, Gincy thought, not right from the start. No, she could remember—when she allowed herself to remember—feeling genuinely close to her mother when she was a little girl. Memories of those early years had become painful to recall as time went by and she and her mother grew further apart, but she knew that if she gathered her courage she could face the memories and appreciate the warm relationship she and her mother had once shared. The picnics together in Appleville Park, just the two of them, sitting on the old plaid blanket, eating bologna sandwiches and drinking lemonade. Going to the movies together on a Saturday afternoon and treating themselves to a box of Raisinets. Her mother holding on to the seat of Gincy’s first two-wheeled bike as she taught her daughter how to ride. Baking cupcakes for the school bake sales. It had all been so fun. So simple. So comforting.
The Season of Us Page 11