by Lois Battle
By mid-October she’d resumed most of her activities and, though by no means happy, at least she didn’t feel dead to the world. Dr. Dareher was patient, intelligent, genuinely concerned. At last she began to talk, but only in the abstract, about self-delusion, manipulation, betrayal. When he pressed her for instances in her own experience, she shut down. She could never bring herself to talk about Bedford, though she still thought about him constantly. How, she asked herself, had she let herself be seduced (there was no other word for it) by such a cliche (there was no other word for it) character? Admittedly, she hadn’t had much experience with men, but she wasn’t an idiot. Why hadn’t she seen it coming? But, to be honest, she had seen it coming—that very first afternoon after the storm she’d had enough sense to get up and leave, then, God only knew ... “Why,” she asked Dr. Dareher, “do we deny our strongest intuitions?” As expected, he turned the question around and made it more personal, “Why do you think you deny yours?” Over the next couple of months, as he’d guided her through the maze of childhood memories and traumas, she’d pondered that question. But she’d never been able to come up with an answer that satisfied. She’d answered his questions about how she felt being Orrie’s wife, Susan and Ricky’s mother, Bear and Josie’s daughter, Cam and Evie’s sister. “And who, apart from all these roles, are you?” he asked. “Who is Lila when she’s all by herself?” Staring at the seascape behind his head, she’d thought for a long time, then said, apologizing because it sounded so corny, “I really do love nature.” She’d been driving to a beach close to her house every day after breakfast, or before breakfast if Orrie wasn’t home. Walking in the early hours, listening to the ocean, watching birds, studying shells and plants calmed her and took her out of herself. She put her hands behind her head, still studying the painting. “I thought I was in love with this man. Isn’t it strange that someone who’s a real bastard can still have wonderful ideas?” Dr. Dareher leaned forward, encouraging her to go on. After a pause she said, “So.”
“So?” he prodded gently.
“So I’ve been thinking that I might go back to college. I never finished, you know. I’d like to take some classes in marine biology.”
“About the man?”
“Oh, he was a real clam worm.”
“A what?”
“A clam worm. They live buried in the mud and rocks, and they have bristly legs and powerful horny jaws. They dig in for defense but they’re aggressive hunters when it comes to young clams.” She thought about this. “Ah, well. All things exist in nature.”
When she didn’t go on, he smiled and said, “Clams? As in ‘clam up’?”
She checked her watch, got up from the couch, picked up her shoulder bag. “I think my time’s up.” She didn’t suppose, even with the help of a psychiatrist, that she could plum the murky depths. Because she really didn’t want to. At the door she turned and said, “You’ve never seen a clam worm? You know, doctor, you really ought to get out of the office more.”
Big band music was drifting from the house. Opening Josie’s kitchen door, Lila called, “I’m here, Mama,” and walked through to the living room. Dozier and Josie were jitterbugging, so engrossed that at first they didn’t notice her. “That was a slinky move,” Dozier, spinning Josie away from him, said. “Now roll in tight and we’ll cross hands and . . .” Lila watched, vaguely envious. Maybe that generation didn’t have the Pill, but they sure got a lot of pleasure out of dancing and, as far as relations between the sexes went, maybe it was a toss-up. “Ah, Lila . . .” Seeing her, Dozier put out his hand, motioning for her to join in. “Come trip the light fantastic with us.”
“Don’t have time if I’m going to go grocery shopping with Mama.”
Josie disengaged herself and turned off the record player. “I’ll be right with you, Lila. Soon’s I comb my hair and grab my bag. Oh, no. I forgot. First we have to help Dozier with the Christmas tree. His car’s parked out front.”
“I didn’t notice. Reason being, Peatsy Gibbs about ran me down as I tried to pull into the drive.”
“That’s Peatsy for you,” Dozier chuckled as the three of them walked to the front door. “Thinks she’s queen of the road and every other thing. Oh, looky here.” He bent to the floor near the mail slot, picked up a scattering of envelopes, and handed them to Josie. “Mailman’s been while we’ve been dancing the afternoon away.”
“Christmas cards,” Josie said, examining the envelopes. “Here’s one from Joan Christianson—’member the Christiansons, Lila?”
“No, Mama, I don’t.”
“They were stationed in Norfolk same time we were. You used to play with the little boy, Roger. That little boy who had more freckles than a turkey egg? Then they were transferred to—”
“I don’t remember, Mama,” Lila said impatiently, meaning she didn’t care. Josie had her wits about her, but she still insisted on going through the old person’s litany of neighbors and friends you couldn’t possibly remember and had no interest in.
“And here’s one from Mrs. Beasley . . .” Josie reached for the letter opener on the hall table, ripped open the envelope, and pulled out a card showing barnyard animals smiling at an infant Jesus who looked like the chubby-cheeked child in the old Campbell’s soup advertisements.
Dozier said, “Mrs. Beastly wanted to come again this Christmas, but I told your mother definitely not.”
“Thank God someone can penetrate Mama’s stubborn streak,” Lila congratulated him.
“ ‘Dear Mrs. Tatternall,’ ” Josie read, “ ‘I hope this year’s holidays will be better for you than the last. I was so disappointed to hear that you were not feeling well enough to accept guests . . .’ ”
Lila groaned. “The Mouth of the South. Please don’t take time to read anything from Mrs. Beasley now.”
“ ‘... I expect you will be, as I am, very lonely, but . . .’ ” Josie continued.
Dozier said, “Some people deserve to be lonely. What else have you got?”
“Oh, this is from Evie.” As Josie opened the letter, a photograph fell to the floor. “She says—” Josie perused the note, willing to censor it if need be, while Dozier picked up the photo. “ ‘Having a wonderful time . . .’ ”
“Originality was never her long suit,” Lila cut in.
“She doesn’t have a long suit,” Dozier said. “She’s got a Morse code bathing suit.”
“A what?”
“Two dots and a dash.” He winked and showed them both the photo: Evie in a shocking-pink bikini, tanned as toast, with sunglasses as big as aviator’s goggles, and a smile as big as all outdoors, lolling in front of a beachfront cabana.
Lila shook her head. “I’m surprised Jasper was sober enough to hold the camera.”
Josie took the photo. “We won’t show it to Orrie.”
“Oh, Orrie’s dealing with it better than I am,” Lila said. “Or maybe he’s just happy that Jasper’s out of town and doesn’t know how he voted on that wetlands preservation issue.”
“You tell Orrie I’m proud of him about that vote,” Dozier told her. “When he was elected—and I guess you know that, much as I like him, I didn’t vote for him—I said, this dog won’t hunt. But he’s surprised me. He’s come good.”
“Yes,” Lila said, with just a tad of condescension. Orrie had “come good,” as Dozier put it. He’d assembled an eclectic staff who knew about the issues, and he had a “gee-golly-whiz” earnestness that made her feel renewed affection and respect for him. Much to her surprise, she was beginning to enjoy being a politician’s wife. “Personally,” she said, handing the photograph back to Josie, “I think Evie and Jasper are pathetic, but Orrie says not to worry. In an era of television, voters like dirt.”
“Voters have always liked dirt,” Dozier told her. “Just they used to feel some shame for flapping around in it like birds in a dust bath.”
“I wish they’d damn move to St. Kitts,” Lila said. “Just as long as they stay out of our lives and the old goat
doesn’t leave everything to my Barbie-doll sister and cut my kids out of his will.”
“Oh, tidings of comfort and joy,” Dozier teased, and, seeing Josie’s discomfort, “Shall we haul in that tree?”
“Please. Let’s.” Josie said. “You know Cam and Sam are due in tomorrow afternoon and I want—”
“Cam and Sam. Sounds like some new brand of cat food.” Lila laughed to take the edge off the remark. Cam still came first in Josie’s heart, and now that she’d gotten married and moved to Atlanta, Josie acted as though Cam’d hung the moon. But what Lila had perceived as favoritism didn’t hurt her as it once had. And if, as she knew was the case, she’d lived in Cam’s shadow and chosen a life of conformity not only to protect herself but to save her mother from the pain Cam and Bear had given her, she could hardly blame Cam. And she wasn’t going to be like Evie, perpetually replaying the injustices of childhood in order to explain away her problems. Now that she and Orrie were getting along so well, and she was looking forward to going back to school, she just wanted to get on with the rest of her life. “All right,” she said, a smile creasing one corner of her mouth, “let’s go get that tree.”
It was a crisp, clear day, the sun beaming through the windshield of the Volvo highlighting the tips of Sam’s lashes and the silver at his temples. They were cruising at a smooth sixty miles an hour, the windows rolled down to let in the fresh breeze, the heater on to warm Cam’s chronically chilly feet. Her head was on his shoulder, his hand was on her thigh. Mozart was playing on the tape deck. “This is a perfect moment,” she said, almost to herself.
“What?”
“A perfect moment. Like the first time I wrote a short story and banged out The End on my old Underwood, or when I heard Ray Charles sing ‘Georgia’ in person, or when I went to the Museum of Modern Art for the first time and saw Rousseau’s sleeping Arab with the lion standing over him.”
“Oh, yeah. The sleeping Arab and the lion. I’d sure put that on my top-ten favorite things.”
“Philistine.” She pinched his arm but nestled closer. “You know what I mean. Special moments of great pleasure. Why are those moments so short-lived? Why can’t we hold on to them?”
“Just tough luck, sweetheart.” He talked out of the side of his mouth. “What a smart dame like you calls the human condition.”
“Don’t try to do Bogart. You can’t do Bogart. You can’t even do Elvis or John Wayne. You’re a lousy impersonator.”
“I thought I did a pretty credible Don Juan last night.”
“You did,” she whispered in his ear.
“Whoa, girl, you want me to go off the road?”
“Only if you see a cheap motel.” She laughed, but her laughter ended in a sigh.
“You going strange on me because we’re getting close to your mama’s house?”
“No. I can’t wait to see Mama. I’m a little worried about her. When we talked on the phone last night, she said she had something important to tell me but she was going to wait until we were all together. Her health’s been fine, but I wonder . . .”
“Don’t worry. If anything was wrong she would’ve said so. Josie’s a straight-shooter.”
“Much more than she used to be. You can’t imagine how white-gloves, make-nice, and salute-the-flag she used to be.” She smiled and shook her head. “Evie running off to the islands with Jasper! There was a time when Mama would have drawn the shades and put her head in the oven because of that, but she seemed to take it in stride. It’s too bad you won’t get to meet Evie and Jasper. They’re the dog-and-pony show of the Tatternall circus. Jasper would Bubba-and-turkey-shoot you to death, and Evie would shake her boobies and bat her eyelashes, and if you were friendly, she’d think you were coming on to her. And if you weren’t, she’d say you were passive-aggressive and had trouble relating to women. And then there’s Lila. Haven’t heard from her since I called to thank her for my birthday gift.”
“You said she sounded fine.”
“Sure, she sounded fine, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t going to be mad at me when she sees me in person. She’s always mad at me when she sees me in person, though after last Christmas I expect she’ll be on her best behavior.”
“As will you.”
“As will I,” she agreed. “Unless Lila’s kids fray my patience. Susan isn’t too bad. In fact, I could develop some affection for her, but Ricky? He’s a real Generation X poster boy, twenty going on three. Likes to hurl himself on the floor and have a temper tantrum if cable goes out on the TV. ’Course Lila and Orrie have no one but themselves to blame for that. Now Orrie ... as I’ve told you, you wouldn’t want to be stranded on a desert island with him, but I don’t think you’ll actually dislike him.”
“Why don’t you just let me form my own impressions?”
“Well, excuse me!” she said grandly, but kept on. “And Uncle Dozier. You can’t help but love Uncle Dozier. Want an apple?” He shook his head. She reached into the brown bag at her feet, took an apple, and polished it on the sleeve of her cable-knit sweater. “So, I’m glad we’re going.”
“You’d better be, it was your idea. I would’ve been just as happy to stay home and put up bookshelves in your office.”
The wrinkle in the center of her forehead creased. “I sure hope we haven’t bitten off more than we can chew. The world isn’t exactly crying out for another small-press operation.”
“You trust Jane and Fred. You’ve said yourself that between the three of you, you have more publishing experience than a staff of eight.”
“Since we’re going to be doing the work of eight, I guess we’ll need it.”
“You also said the idea of starting a grass-roots publishing house excited you.”
“I still think ‘Root Hog’ would be a better name than ‘Annabell Lee.’ ”
“The stationery isn’t printed yet. Maybe you can convince your partners. You can be very convincing when you put your mind to it.”
She munched on the apple, thinking out loud. “Fred’s so stuck on publishing poetry, and I do want to publish poetry, but we can’t be so artsy-fartsy that we can’t pay the bills. I’ve been wondering if maybe we couldn’t bring out a new edition of Mama’s cookbook. Distribute it through independent bookstores, tourist shops, chambers of commerce. A good Southern cookbook might be the cash-cow to see us through all those wonderful, unappreciated poets. I don’t know.” She tossed the core of the apple into the paper bag. “The whole thing makes me antsy.”
He felt her emotional temperature drop. “It’s not just worrying about business that’s getting to you, is it?”
“I don’t know. I’m glad we’re going to Mama’s but there’s still a part of me that’s jealous of our time together.”
“We’ve got the rest of our lives together.”
“You know, Sam, sometimes you sound like dialogue from a Disney movie.”
“I happen to like those Disney movies where animals mate for life.”
“Well, maybe we will be able to mate for life,” she said in a world-weary growl, “seeing as how we’re already halfway through it. You know what Bear used to say.”
“I’ve heard a helluva lot of what Bear used to say.”
“He used to say: ‘A man isn’t complete until he’s married; and then he’s finished.’ Finished meaning washed up, ruined.”
Sam laughed. “You’ve told me. And how was it supposed to be for a woman?”
“The woman’s whole life is supposed to be focused on legally snaring the man, bringing him to earth, caging him up.”
“I don’t feel caged. Do you?”
“No. I just feel ...” She felt superstitious; to admit happiness was to court disaster.
“You know, Cam, when things are going wrong you never believe they’ll go right, but when things are going right, you’re always anticipating disaster.”
Now she was downright gloomy. “I just wonder if we’d ever have gotten married if—”
His voice took on an edge. �
�I’ve told you I was miserable when I left New York, but you weren’t exactly hanging on my neck begging me not to go. Nor did you give any indication that you’d be willing to come with me. I figured you’d never give up your career, or living in that damned cesspool.”
She bristled. “I still love New York. There are a lot of wonderful things about New York. New York is—”
“Can we stick to the subject? Can we?”
“What,” she demanded, “is the subject?”
He pulled over to the side of the road, stopping next to a scraggly palmetto and a gully of dormant ferns. “How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t marry you just because of ...” He didn’t want to say ‘the baby,’ though by the time she’d lost it he’d started to think of it that way. “... because you were pregnant. For Chrissake, we’ve talked about all this a hundred times.”
“I know.” She turned away. “But if I hadn’t been pregnant ... If you hadn’t felt sorry for me. I mean, you have to admit, it was the catalyst.”
“Yes, it was the catalyst.” When Reba had brought her to Atlanta they’d talked for two days straight, admitting the improbability of it all, considering the alternatives, then, in a scene that had started with angry words and ended with tears and admissions of love, they’d decided, against all sense, to go through with it. The obstetrician, a specialist in late pregnancies, had warned them about the risks but said that with care and caution, and probably a C-section, Cam would make it through. Then, after two months of waning nausea but increasing fatigue and boredom, on the very day before she was supposed to have amniocentesis, she’d cramped up, fainted, and had a spontaneous abortion.
“Admit it, you were relieved,” she said, quietly. “Just admit that you were relieved.”
“In a way, yes,” he said, not without guilt. “But I’d been honest with you. You know I’d already gone through raising kids, and, yes, I was worried about doing it again, both financially and emotionally. And I was worried about you. Sometimes you’re a goddamn Amazon, but you were so tired and worried. You were so ...” His fist clenched in frustration. “You don’t have to have a baby to be a woman.”