‘You know what I think?’ Sarah said as they sat exhausted at the kitchen table. ‘I think we both deserve a drink.’
The ambulance arrived in midafternoon – four quick, vigorous young men in gleaming white who seemed to enjoy their work. They strapped the old woman into an aluminum stretcher, brought her downstairs with swift delicacy, shoved her inside their vehicle and slammed its doors and were gone.
That evening Sarah drove Emily to the hospital, where a tired-looking doctor explained the nature of a cerebral hemorrhage. Their mother might die in the next day or so, he said, or she might live for a good many years with severe brain damage. In the latter case, she would probably have to be institutionalized.
‘… And of course institutions cost money,’ Sarah said as they rode slowly homeward through the clean new suburbs, ‘and we haven’t got any money.’
EAT, said a big electric sign just ahead; beneath it, in smaller letters, was the word COCKTAILS, and Sarah steered the old Plymouth into the parking lot.
‘I didn’t feel like going home just yet anyway,’ she said, ‘did you?’ When they were settled in a slick booth inside she said ‘I really wanted the air-conditioning more than the drink; doesn’t it feel wonderful?’ Then she raised her glass for a toast, looking suddenly very young, and said ‘Here’s to Pookie’s making a full recovery.’
‘Well,’ Emily said, ‘I don’t think we’d better count on anything like that, Sarah. The doctor said—’
‘I know what he said,’ she insisted, ‘but I know Pookie, too. She’s a remarkable woman. She’s tough. I bet she bounces back from this. Just wait and see.’
There was no point in arguing; Emily agreed that they would wait and see. For a little while there was no talk at all, and Emily used the silence to dwell with bewilderment and chagrin on the way she had woken up this morning. Ned? Ted? Would she ever figure it out? Had she had what drunks call a blackout?
When she came into focus on her sister’s face again it was bright with proud talk about Peter, who would be starting college in the fall, and who viewed college only as a necessary preparation for being accepted into General Theological Seminary.
‘… All these years, and his ambition hasn’t wavered once. That’s what he wants to do, and he’s going to do it. He’s a remarkable boy.’
‘Mm. And how about Tony Junior? He must’ve finished high school last year.’
‘That’s right; except the thing is he didn’t graduate.’
‘Oh? You mean his grades weren’t good enough?’
‘That’s right. Oh, he could have graduated, but he spent practically the whole year running around with this – haven’t I told you about that?’
‘A girl, you mean?’
‘She’s not a girl, that’s the whole point. She’s thirty-five years old. She’s divorced and she’s rich and she’s ruining him. Ruining him. I can’t even talk to him any more, and neither can his father. Even Peter can’t talk to him.’
‘Oh, well,’ Emily said, ‘a lot of boys go through things like that. I imagine he’ll be all right. Probably be a good thing for him, in the long run.’
‘That’s what his father says.’ Sarah looked pensively into her glass. ‘And Eric – well, Eric’s sort of like Tony Junior. Sort of like his father, too, I suppose. Never been a student; all he cares about is cars.’
‘Are you – getting any writing done, Sarah?’
‘Oh, not really. I’ve more or less given up on the humorous family-life sketches. I did four of them, but Tony said they weren’t funny. He said they were good – well-written, good details, held your interest and all that – but he said they weren’t funny. Maybe I was trying too hard.’
‘Could I read them sometime?’
‘Sure, if you want to. Only you probably won’t think they’re funny either. I don’t know. Humor is a lot harder than – you know – serious stuff. Harder for me, anyway.’
And Emily’s mind went away again, thinking of her own troubles; she returned only when she realized that Sarah had brought the conversation around to money.
‘… And have you any idea what Tony’s take-home pay from Magnum is?’ she was saying. ‘Wait, look; here, I’ll show you.’ She rummaged in her purse. ‘Here’s the stub from his last paycheck. Just look.’
Emily had expected it wouldn’t be much, but even so she was surprised: it was a little less than she earned at the advertising agency.
‘And he’s worked there twenty-one years,’ Sarah said. ‘Can you imagine? It’s that old, old, stupid old business of the college degree, you see. All the men his age with engineering degrees are in top management now. Of course Tony has a supervisory position too, but it’s much lower down in the – you know – in the organization. Our only other income is the rent from the cottage, and most of that goes into upkeep. And have you any idea of the taxes we pay?’
‘I guess I’ve always thought old Geoffrey helped you out to some extent.’
‘Geoffrey’s poorer than we are, dear. That little import office barely pays their rent in the city, and Edna’s been very sick.’
‘So there isn’t any – inheritance, or anything.’
‘Inheritance? Oh, no. There’s never been anything like that.’
‘Well, Sarah, how do you manage?’
‘Oh, we do. Just barely, but we manage. On the first of every month I sit down at the dining-room table – and I make the boys sit down with me too, at least I did when they were younger; it’s been good for them to learn about handling money – and I divide everything into accounts. First and foremost is the G. H. account. That covers—’
‘ “G. H.”?’
‘Great Hedges,’ Sarah said.
‘Why do you call the place that?’
‘What do you mean? It’s always been called—’
‘Pookie gave it that name, baby. I was there when she thought it up.’
‘She did?’ And Sarah looked so stunned that Emily was sorry she’d said it. They both reached for their drinks.
‘Look, Sarah,’ Emily began. ‘It’s probably none of my business, but why don’t you and Tony sell that place? The houses wouldn’t be worth anything, but think of the land. You’ve got eight acres in one of the fastest-growing parts of Long Island. You could probably get—’
Sarah was shaking her head. ‘No; no, that’s out of the question. We couldn’t do that; it wouldn’t be fair to the boys. They love the place, you see. It’s their home. It’s the only home they’ve ever known. Remember how awful it was when we were little? Never having a—’
‘But the boys are grown,’ Emily said, and the alcohol was beginning to work in her: she spoke more sharply than she’d meant to. ‘They’ll all be leaving soon. Isn’t it time for you and Tony to think of yourselves? The point is you could get a good, efficient modern house for half what you’re spending on—’
‘That’s another thing,’ Sarah said. ‘Even if it weren’t for the boys, I can’t quite picture Tony and me in some pedantic little—’
‘“Pedantic”?’
‘You know, some conventional little ranch house like all the others.’
‘That isn’t what “pedantic” means.’
‘It isn’t? I thought it meant conventional. Anyway, I don’t see how we could ever do a thing like that.’
‘Why not?’
The argument went on for half an hour, going over and over the same ground, until in the end, when they were getting up to go back to the car, Sarah suddenly gave in. ‘Oh, you’re right, Emmy,’ she said. ‘It would be good for us to sell the place. Good for the boys, too. There’s just one hitch.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’d never convince Tony.’
Back at the house they walked through the garbage-smelling kitchen, through the dining room, across the musty, creaking living room – where Emily always expected to find old Edna curled up and smiling on the sofa – and into what Sarah called the den, where Tony and Peter were watching television.
‘Hi, Aunt Emmy,’ Peter said in a manly voice, getting to his feet.
Tony rose slowly, as if reluctant to leave the screen, and came forward with a can of beer in his hand. He was still in his fishing clothes, speckled with bait stains, and his face was bright with sunburn. ‘I say,’ he said. ‘I’m ve’y sorry about Pewkeh.’
Peter turned off the booming television and Sarah gave them a full report on what the doctor had said, concluding with her own fact-defying prognosis: ‘I bet she bounces back.’
‘Mm,’ Tony said.
For hours that night – long after Tony and Peter had gone to bed, long after Eric and even Tony Junior had come slouching in with mumbled greetings for their aunt and mumbled expressions of sorrow about their grandmother – the Grimes sisters stayed up to talk and drink. They started out in the den and later moved into the living room, which Sarah said was cooler. There Emily sat cross-legged on the floor, for easy access to the liquor on the coffee table, and Sarah sank into the sofa.
‘… And I’ll never forget Tenafly,’ Sarah was saying. ‘Remember when we lived in Tenafly? In that sort of stucco house with the bathroom on the ground floor?’
‘Sure I remember.’
‘I was nine then and you must have been about five; it was the first place we lived after the divorce. Anyway, Daddy came out to visit us there once, and after you were in bed he took me out for a walk. We went to the drugstore and had black-and-white ice-cream sodas. And on the way home – I can still remember that street, the way it curved around – on the way home he said “Baby, can I ask you a question?” Then he said “Who do you love more, your mother or me?”’
‘My God. Did he really say that? And what did you say?’
‘I told him—’ Sarah sniffled. ‘I told him I’d have to think it over. Oh, I knew, of course’ – her voice wavered out of control, but she recovered it – ‘I knew I loved him much, much more than Pookie, but it seemed terribly disloyal to Pookie to come right out and say it. So I said I’d think it over and tell him the next day. He said “ You promise? If I call you on the telephone tomorrow, will you tell me then?” And I promised. I remember not being able to look Pookie in the face that night and not sleeping very well, but when he called up I told him. I said “You, Daddy,” and I thought he was going to cry, right there on the phone. He used to cry a lot, you know.’
‘He did? I never saw him cry.’
‘Well, he did. He was a very emotional man. Anyway, he said “That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” and I remember being relieved that he wasn’t crying. Then he said “Listen. As soon as I can arrange a few things I’m going to have you come and live with me. It might not be right away but it’ll be soon, and we’ll be together always.” ’
‘God,’ Emily said. ‘And then of course he never did anything about it.’
‘Oh, I stopped expecting it to happen after a while; I stopped thinking about it.’
‘And you had to go on living with Pookie and me.’ Emily fumbled for a cigarette. ‘I had no idea you went through anything like that.’
‘Oh, don’t misunderstand,’ Sarah said. ‘He loved you too; he always used to ask me about you, especially later, when you were growing up – what you were like, what you’d like for your birthday – you know. It’s just that he never really got to know you very well.’
‘I know.’ Emily took a drink, finding her keen sense of melancholy enhanced by the way the alcohol seemed to go straight from the roof of her mouth into her veins. She had a story of her own to tell now; it might not be as sad a story as Sarah’s, but it would do. ‘Remember Larchmont?’ she began.
‘Sure.’
‘Well, when Daddy came out for Christmas that year…’ She told of how she’d lain awake to hear her parents talking and talking downstairs and how she’d called out for her mother, who had come up smelling of gin and said they were ‘coming to a new understanding,’ and how all hope had been lost the next day.
Sarah was nodding in corroboration. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I remember that night. I was awake too. I heard you call out.’
‘You did?’
‘And I heard Pookie come up. I was as excited as you were. And then a little later, maybe half an hour later, I got up and went downstairs.’
‘You went downstairs?’
‘And there wasn’t much light in the living room, but I could see them lying together on the sofa.’
Emily swallowed. ‘You mean they were – getting laid?’
‘Well, there wasn’t much light, but he was on top and it was – you know – it was a very passionate embrace.’ And Sarah brought her glass up quickly to hide her mouth.
‘Oh,’ Emily said. ‘I see.’
They were both silent for a while. Then Emily said ‘I wish you’d told me that a long time ago, Sarah. Or no, come to think of it, I guess I’m glad you didn’t. Tell me something else. Have you ever understood why they got divorced? Oh, I know her version – she felt “stifled”; she wanted freedom; she always used to compare herself with the woman in A Doll’s House.’
‘A Doll’s House, right. Well, it was partly that; but then a couple of years after the divorce she decided she wanted to come back to him, and he wouldn’t have her.’
‘You sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, think about it, Emmy. If you were a man, would you have taken her back?’
Emily thought about it. ‘No. But then, why did he ever marry her in the first place?’
‘Oh, he loved her; don’t worry about that. He told me once she was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Well, maybe he didn’t say “fascinating.” But he said she cast a spell.’
Emily studied the drink in her hand. ‘When did you have all these talks with him, anyway?’
‘Oh, mostly during the time I had braces. I didn’t have to go into the city once a week, you see – the dentist only wanted to see me once a month. That once-a-week story was something Daddy and I made up, so we’d have more time together. Pookie never did figure it out.’
‘Neither did I.’ And even now, at thirty-six, Emily was jealous. ‘And who was Irene Hammond?’ she asked. ‘The lady I met at Daddy’s funeral?’
‘Oh, Irene Hammond was only around in the last few years, toward the end of his life. There were others.’
‘There were? Did you meet them?’
‘Some of them. Two or three of them.’
‘Were they nice?’
‘One of them I didn’t like at all; the others were all right.’
‘Why do you suppose he never married again?’
‘I don’t know. He said once — this was when I was engaged to Donald Clellon – he said that a man ought to be happy in his work before he got married, and maybe it was partly that. He was never happy in his work, you see. I mean, he’d wanted to be a great reporter, somebody like Richard Harding Davis, or Heywood Broun. I don’t think he ever understood why he was only – you know – only a copy-desk man.’
And that did it. They had been holding back tears all evening, all night, but that phrase was too much. Sarah started crying first and Emily got up from the floor to take her in her arms and comfort her, until it was clear that she couldn’t comfort anyone because she was crying too. With their mother lying in a coma twenty miles away, they clung together drunkenly and wept for the loss of their father.
Pookie didn’t die the next day, or the day after that. By the end of the third day it was assumed that her condition was ‘stabilized,’ and Emily decided to go home. She wanted to be back in her air-conditioned apartment, where nothing smelled of mildew and everything was clean, and she wanted to get back to work.
‘Pity we don’t see more of you, Emmy,’ Tony said as he drove her swiftly to the station in his Thunderbird. When he parked near the platform to wait for the train, she realized she might never have a better chance than this for bringing up the question of
selling the place. She tried to do it tactfully, making clear that she knew it was none of her business, implying that it must surely be something he’d thought about before.
‘Oh, God, yes,’ he said as they heard the sound of the approaching train. ‘I’d love to be rid of it all. Let them take a bulldozer and bury it. If it were up to me I’d—’
‘You mean it isn’t up to you?’
‘Oh, no, pet; it’s Sarah, you see. She’d never hear of it.’
‘But Sarah says she wants to do it. She told me you were the one who didn’t.’
‘Oh?’ he said, looking bemused. ‘That so?’
The train was on them with an overwhelming noise; there was nothing for Emily to do but say goodbye.
When she got off the elevator at her floor – the great cock and balls still protruded from the wallpaper horse – she was almost too tired to stand. The apartment was as cool and welcoming as she’d known it would be, and she sank into a deep chair with her heels sliding straight out on the floor. This was fatigue. Tomorrow she would ride uptown to Baldwin Advertising, she would do her job with all the intelligence and efficiency they had come to expect of her, and she would drink nothing for a week except a beer or a glass of wine after work each day. In no time at all she would be herself again.
But meanwhile it was only eight o’clock in the evening; there was nothing in the place she wanted to read; nothing to watch on television; nothing to do but sit here and go over and over the time in St. Charles in her mind. After a while she was up and pacing the floor with her fist in her mouth. Then her telephone rang.
‘Emily?’ said a man’s voice. ‘Oh, wow, are you really there? I’ve been calling you and calling you.’
‘Who’s this?’
‘It’s Ted; Ted Banks – Friday night, remember? I’ve been calling you since Saturday morning – three, four times a day, and you were never home. Are you okay?’
Hearing his voice and his last name brought it all back. She could see his plain, heavy-browed face now and remember the shape and the weight and the feel of him; she could remember everything. ‘I was out of town for a few days,’ she said. ‘My mother was very ill.’
Richard Yates Page 12