25
Pam drove the car through town, trying to decide if she should just go home or if she should try to stay out a little longer. She was frightened to be home, fear that loneliness after getting the latest news would be the final straw; that she might do something desperate. But there was nothing she needed from store, and she didn’t feel like shopping anyway. She passed a small framing shop, an art gallery, and a gift shop. On a whim, she pulled into a space in front, she got out of the car and walked up to the gift shop. It was full of china knick-knacks.
In spite of her anger and confusion, Pam was unable to think of Jack in negative terms. She wanted to make something for him, a memento of sorts that would hold some of his treasures, the little odds and ends he saved. She browsed the store, looking at what was hanging on the walls, not seeing anything suitable. The shop owner suggested she try the frame shop next door. There, she found the perfect solution—an oak shadow box with tiny cubicles and shelves in it, which would hold all his keepsakes. She wasn’t a creative person, but this box would make it possible for her to put together a tribute to her husband. She paid for it and took the wrapped package back to her car.
Suddenly, she saw her life with clarity. She was still acting from a place of denial. Her body began trembling. Tribute. That word opened the floodgates. My tribute to you Jack! She started laughing through her tears. And your tribute to me? Thank you, Jack! Thank you for that wonderful surprise today! She couldn’t stay there, balling and yelling, so she started up the car and pulled out, heading toward home.
“No wonder he didn’t want to fuck me anymore!” she yelled out loud. “He was too guilty giving his business away, the business that we sacrificed for, that I did without for, that I worked for.” Although it wasn’t exactly true that she did without, Pam did spend her life away from Jack so he could be close to his office. That had been her sacrifice.
She made it home without killing anyone. The key was not going in the door, and she struggled with it, growing in anger and frustration. When the door finally gave way, she dropped her purse in the hallway and slammed the door behind her. She marched into the kitchen and picked up the coffee cup she drank from that morning, and although it had already been washed, she squirted dish detergent into it and scrubbed it with a vengeance. The cleaning ladies had been there, and the house was sparkling; there was nothing for her to do. She was growing in frustration, anger, and confusion. How did this happen? Where was I when my husband was losing his mind? Giving his business away? Changing our life forever?
She didn’t fully comprehend why him leaving the business to his girlfriend made her angrier than having the girlfriend in the first place. She wished she could go back to the gym and run on the treadmill until she fainted. She didn’t want to think about this anymore.
“Okay,” she said out loud, “pull it together, Pam. What can you do, right now, right this second, to feel better?” She thought for a minute and then said, again out loud, “Have a cup of coffee.”
There, it was something she could do. She pulled the coffee can out of the pantry, grabbed a filter, and walked to the coffee pot. She measured the coffee with a measuring spoon, leveling off exactly the spoonfuls of coffee and dumping them into the filter with precision. She poured the water into the pot and turned it on. She took a deep breath, feeling the tension across her shoulders and neck. When the coffee was finished, she poured a cup. Pam confronted her pain in its entirety. Her life was empty, useless. She didn’t do anything for anybody else. Day after day, she took care of only herself. Jack was a weekend diversion to her week of empty self-serving. After the kids left for college, she should have moved into the city during the week with her husband, taken a class, or looked for a job.
The regrets were overwhelming her. Desperation was building. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, wringing her hands, wondering what she could do to make herself feel better. Finally, the thought entered her head. If only I could just die. Killing herself would be too gruesome for her. Why did Jack have to die? Why couldn’t I have died instead? She lost track of time, and still standing in the center of her beautiful home, Pam lowered her head and, with a heaving chest, began to sob. Then the phone rang. She turned to pick it up to read the caller ID. It was Sandra Benson. Unbelievably, Pam wanted to talk to her, needed to talk to her. She pressed the talk button.
“Hello.” She couldn’t control the tremor in her voice. Sandra could hear the despair. Oh, oh, she thought. She steeled herself.
“Pam. Pam, I spoke with the lawyer today. I had no idea Jack was planning this. And the truth is, I am shocked. If you want the business, and I told this to the attorney, it’s yours. Okay? I know that doesn’t make the fact that Jack did it any better.” Sandra stopped, giving Pam a chance to say something.
“I can’t make any decisions right now, Sandra. But I do appreciate the offer.” Not trusting herself to say anymore, but not wanting to be rude, she asked Sandra how she was doing.
“I’m okay. Besides feeling like I have ruined your life, I guess I am doing pretty well. But I do want to see you, Pam. I know you had planned on having me to the beach this weekend, but I want to see you before that. Do you think you could come into the city tomorrow?” Sandra asked, not sure what her motive was. It was probably just exactly what Pam needed. Jumping at the chance to have something to do, she didn’t question the motive or reason, or what the outcome would be.
“I would love to come to the city. What time can you meet?” Her mood immediately improved. “I can come to you so we will have more time for lunch.” Sandra told her she would be available all day and then asked her if she was okay.
“I am feeling pretty aimless right now. What to do? I have been to the gym, my house is clean, and I’ve been shopping. What’s left?” Am I feeling the tiniest bit of self-pity?
“Your husband just died, Pam. You should give yourself a break,” Sandra said, feeling her way along unfamiliar territory. “And I don’t want to trivialize what you are going through. Jack used to say that you loved reading on your veranda. He said the views were breathtaking and that he was never happier than when he was sitting out there with you, he with his laptop and you with a good book.” She was out of breath, hoping that she hadn’t overstepped her boundaries. She remembered just a few days before, Marie saying her sister would bury herself in a book while her sister entertained Jack. She wouldn’t repeat it to Pam.
“I do have a stack of novels I got out of the library last week. I tried reading one, but I couldn’t get into it. I’ll try another! Thank you, Sandra!”
They said their good-byes, Pam cheerful now, her old self. Maybe I am a simpleton, she thought. Former sadness forgotten, the change in her demeanor was sudden and swift. Pam went from being despondent to having excited expectation over a day in the city with a friend. However, she didn’t know what was awaiting her. So while Pam sat in her comfortable chair on her beautiful veranda, looking out upon a spectacular ocean and trying in vain to forget her anger and disappointment by reading a book, Sandra prepared to unload a fresh bucket of heartache upon her.
26
The baby was becoming, in the few short days its existence was known, a purpose for living. Sandra still felt sad that Jack was no longer alive, that he would miss this wonderful part of their life together, but she wasn’t lost as she had been, as Pam was. Jack’s death was the end of something bigger than she had known. Pam and Jack and their two children were a beautiful, vital miracle. She was responsible for tainting the loveliness of it, and she had a feeling that if karma were real, she would be making restitution in some way, that her dues had not yet been paid. That realization petrified her. She would pray, Please, God, don’t make the baby suffer on account of my sins. “Do not be deceived, God will not be mocked, a man reaps what he sows,” she remembered. But first, she had one more painful revelation to convey. She must tell Pam that Jack was going to be a father again, that Lisa and Brent would be having a baby brother or sister, that she, P
am, would become a stepparent. Sandra needed Pam now, as Pam had seemed to need her. She was her connection to Jack. Together, the two of them and the three children would be responsible for the continuation of Jack.
A few miles north, Marie was walking home from work. She had worked late. The project was there, available for the taking, and God knew she needed the distraction. The good intentions she had a day ago went by the wayside the night before. She was so angry at Pam, at Sandra, at Jack. They had either betrayed her, or dismissed her, or a combination of the two. This journey she was forced to take would be one of stops and starts, two steps forward, one step back, over and over and over.
Coming to terms with what much of her adult relationship with Jack had been was a painful, embarrassing experience. She alone was responsible, she alone in control. If Pam had ever had an inkling of what was going on in her own house, between her sister and her husband, she would have been shocked and furious.
When she was just fifteen, Marie started flirting with Jack. For years she had known him, she spent every weekend, holiday, and summer in his presence. He was her big brother, her beloved brother-in-law. She was spending more and more time with him, doing the things with him that Pam didn’t want to do through lack of interest, or probably because she was exhausted from having two babies close together.
It was innocent enough at first. Marie remembered the first time she had that feeling that she wanted something from Jack that was more intimate, something that was just for her. They were playing tennis, and she was beating him. Game after game they played, he was having an off day, or she was having a fabulous day. But in the last game, she blew it and he won. He was so glad that he was like a small boy, running around the court, jumping up and down, and yelling. She didn’t care that she didn’t win and was amazed at his childish behavior, shaking her head and smiling at him.
Then he hopped over the net and picked her up in his arms, swinging her around, yelling, “Did you let me win? I won that for real, right?” Nuzzling her neck, and then putting her down, still laughing and out of breath, he kissed her right smack on the lips. He put his arm around her shoulder as they walked across the park, and Marie noticed people looking at them, the handsome, fit young man and his younger partner, both in gleaming tennis clothes, rackets swung over their shoulders, looking like the elegante’ of the Upper West Side.
If they had been a real couple, they would have gone back to their apartment, taken a shower together, and made love. In the real world, however, the apartment was inhabited by a mother and her two children, who were all napping. Jack changed his clothes and went into their tiny den, turning on the TV to watch the news. Marie took a shower, and when she was done, instead of getting dressed, she put on a robe and went into the den where Jack sat. She walked in front of him and opened her robe. He, totally taken by surprise, looked up at her face first, shocked, and then he looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, and then, starting at her breasts, he looked down, down, and when he came to her privates, he reached forward and touched her there. She became a little weak in the knees and opened her legs slightly, but he had come to his senses.
“Honey, you better get dressed before your sister wakes up,” he said and, not until a second later, withdrew his hand.
She was trembling, frightened at the intensity of her physical response, but followed orders and closed her robe. He got up, clearly excited by the straining of his erection in his sweatpants, and went into the kitchen to get something to drink.
She went back to her room and got dressed. When she returned to the kitchen, he asked her what she wanted for dinner, smiling at her as though nothing had happened, because nothing really had. They decided to make Mexican food to surprise Pam when she and the kids woke up from their nap.
It was a fun dinner. Pam and Jack drank wine, and they were more animated than usual, Pam following Jack’s lead as she always did. Once again, she would benefit from the presence of her little sister.
That night, their lovemaking woke Marie up. She could hear Jack’s voice murmuring and the squeaking of the bed. She got up and tiptoed out of her room and down the hall, kneeling down on the floor to peek through the keyhole of their ancient bedroom door. She could see clearly; they had a bedside light on. Pam’s legs were spread wide, and Jack was lying over the edge of the bed with his head right “there.”
Not yet familiar with oral sex, Marie had no idea what was going on, until Pam came. She started moaning, and Jack grabbed her hips with his hands. Marie could see his head bobbing around. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what he was doing. Next, he got up on his knees, with his legs spread, the teenager able to see his scrotum hanging down and see him grab his own penis and put it into his wife. Pam’s legs were wrapped around Jack’s waist. Marie was fascinated. They started rocking together, and before long, Jack grunted and that was that. He must have been done, because he got off her and stood up at the side of the bed.
Marie realized that he was going to come out of the bedroom to use the bathroom, so she vaulted, on tiptoe, back to her room. It took a moment for her to assimilate everything she had just seen, and when she did, the laughing started. She buried her head in her pillow, screaming laughing. She heard Jack at her door, peeking in to see if she was sleeping and closing the door. She heard him going back to his room. She was laughing so hard tears were rolling down her check. She had to blow her nose. Sex was so funny. What was God thinking when he made that? There was nothing beautiful about it at all. It was in the same league as going to the bathroom.
She debated whether or not she would say anything to him and decided not to because she wanted to watch again, and if he knew, he might block the view. She couldn’t recall knowing they were doing it before that night.
Marie got to her apartment. She switched on a light and picked up her mail. There were mostly bills, a few ads, and a few cards—people, friends sending sympathy. It was already late, she wanted to get a few things done before bedtime, so she took her shower and put her pajamas on. What to have for dinner tonight? Food was a constant problem for Marie. She loathed eating alone. If anyone asked her to go to lunch during the week, she jumped at the chance. She would eat heartily, and then if dinner were meager, or skipped altogether, she wouldn’t be starving to death. It looked like the best she could do was some cheese and crackers, some crudités, and a can of diet soda. She put everything on a big dinner plate, and picking up a book and the sympathy cards, she went into her bedroom and switched on the bedside lamp. She would sit up in bed and read and eat.
She popped open her can of soda and picked up the first card. It was a trite, religious card, the front printed with a dove and the words, “He knows your pain.” On the inside, the writer said, “I know Jack will always be in your heart.” She put it down and put her head back on the headboard. Closing her eyes, she thought about another day at the park weeks after the tennis match.
Pam didn’t want to go, so Jack and Marie and the two kids took a blanket and a picnic basket and walked to the playground. After they ate, they pushed the kids on the swings, ran after them, pushed them on the merry-go-round, played Frisbee, and both of them exhausted, fell asleep on the blanket. Jack was reading a book for school; Marie was lying on her back, her eyes closed, and hands across her stomach.
She felt Jack spread a blanket across her, and then he moved in close to her, lying on his side, eyes closed. He slipped his hand under the blanket and onto her knee. His hand slipped up her leg, moving to the inside of her shorts. She ever so slightly moved her legs apart, one eye on the sleeping children.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “no one is around.” He pushed her legs a little farther apart. His fingers slipped under the elastic of her underpants. She forgot her earlier derision of sex. He snickered. “You like that?” he asked. It took her about ten seconds to reach the conclusion that she had just been molested by her brother-in-law and that the ramifications of it could have devastating consequences for
him—if she told, that is. He didn’t seem to get that, never asked her to keep it a secret, and acted like it was his duty to take care of her since she flashed him the day of the tennis match. She threw the blanket off of her and sat up. They weren’t exactly alone, but she didn’t think anyone noticed them messing around under the cover.
“Let’s wake the kids up and head back home,” she said. She got up and straightened her clothing and started getting things packed away so they could go home. Jack put his arm around her shoulder as they walked home, she pushing the double stroller, he carrying the picnic basket. Even at that young age she thought of the futility of their relationship. It would never be anything more than game-playing. When they got back to the apartment, Pam was sitting in a chair with her feet up, reading. She looked so happy and refreshed.
“So, here’s my family!” She bent over to take the kids out of the stroller. “Did my babies have fun?” she asked. “I certainly had fun! Thank you, both of you! It was a wonderful, relaxing afternoon. Did you two have fun? Or was it awful?”
“No, it was fine,” Jack said. “After we played a while, I read my book, and the kids got a little nap in.”
The rest of the afternoon was spent in preparation for dinner and a night of movie-watching. Marie felt slightly miffed at Jack, though. It was a scene that would replay itself over and over again in their life together. Jack would use her in some way and then act beatific, as though he were serving some noble purpose for mankind. Seeing Pam and Jack interacting, recognizing the afternoon for what it was, a step over an invisible boundary of trust and unforgivable behavior, Marie lost it.
Pam of Babylon Page 14