All the Best People

by Sonja Yoerg

  “If you’re worried about your mom, you should talk to your father.”

  “I did.”

  “What’d he say?”

  Alison hesitated, pinching the coils of the cord closed and letting them open again and again. Oh well. Hadn’t she called her aunt so she could help? “He didn’t explain what he meant, so I’m confused.”

  “So what did he say?”

  Alison let out a big breath. “He said she was going through the Change of Life.”

  “The what—oh, that!” Aunt Janine sputtered, then laughed, on and on and on. “Oh God, that is hysterical! The change of life. Oh, Walt.” She laughed some more, but in the background, like she’d put the receiver on the counter.

  An empty space opened up inside Alison. The hand holding the receiver felt bigger than normal and numb. She rubbed tears from the end of her nose.

  “Alison?” Her aunt fought back laughs so big she was choking on them. “Alison, are you there?”

  Alison pressed the phone against her chest, hard enough for it to hurt. She pushed with all her might but the stab of pain was nothing against the poisonous, sinking ache that spread all through her. She sat there until she could breathe around the ache, and then got up and put the receiver back on the base.

  28

  Janine

  They were supposed to be away the whole weekend, at least that’s what Janine had planned. She’d chosen the place: Lake George. In fact, the trip itself had been her idea. Greg agreed to it immediately, but he would have agreed to anywhere she suggested. He wasn’t a control freak, which was a relief, although she hoped he didn’t defer to her because he was weak. Laid-back was one thing and weak was another. She wanted someone she could respect, like Mitch, and there was no bigger turn-off than someone who’d stand there and let her eat him alive. She needed a man who would stand up to her. He had to know when, of course, and how.

  Lake George was a two-hour drive, far enough to feel like a destination, to have a car trip that would be the first and last chapter of the story of their first weekend together, but not so far as to require extra logistics. She wanted an exciting, romantic place to hang out in the sack with him for two and a half days, away from Adams, where it seemed a daily bulletin was issued with details of what in a reasonable world would be considered private business. She doubted whether anyone cared what she did and who she did it with, other than that it was something to talk about while filling up a car or choosing oranges at the Grand Union. Anonymity made her feel less like she was dragging her past behind her like toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

  Greg offered to drive. Friday afternoon, he pulled into her driveway. She came out of the house with her small suitcase, locked the door and stood watching him throwing junk from the front seat into the rear.

  “Hey there, handsome.” His Ford Pinto was a rolling locker room, filled with basketballs and sneakers and clothing that looked like the Before shot in a Tide commercial.

  He peered at her over the roof and flashed his dimples. “Hi.” He finished clearing off the seat and stood beside the car. “Sorry about that. Didn’t have time to spiff it up.”

  She forced herself not to wrinkle her nose and gave him an understanding look. “Why don’t we take mine? You can still drive, if you want.”

  He eyed the LTD, chrome gleaming. “Cool.”

  They listened to the radio and swapped stories about the school staff. Janine told Greg about how Lane Snelling, the guidance counselor, called into WDEV radio every morning and requested Cat Stevens’s “Morning Has Broken.”

  “No way.”

  She nodded. “And if you walk by his office when they play it—and for some reason, they always do—he’ll be sitting there with his eyes closed, swaying in his chair and mouthing the words.”

  Greg shook his head in disbelief.

  “Do the kids know this?”

  “We’ve kept it quiet for now, but it can’t last.”

  “You could leak it to your niece.”

  Janine remembered Alison’s call earlier that afternoon and almost burst out laughing. “Oh, I doubt she’d tell anyone even if I did.”

  “You’re right. What a sweet kid.”

  She reached over and ran her hand up his leg, stopping short of his crotch. “Runs in the family.”

  The prospect of checking into a hotel with Greg intoxicated her. They’d be announcing publicly—well, to the clerk and whoever else was around—that they were going to have sex in the room. She hadn’t felt this way before: thrilled with the actual fact of the relationship as much as with the idea of it. When she had packed her bag for the weekend, her emotions were whipped into a froth of horniness and vindication. Now, together with Greg in the car, she could barely contain herself.

  It hadn’t been the same with Mitch. How could it? He had been too old. It was a sport for her, and not a challenging one. And before Mitch there had been boys, or boys masquerading as men. She’d fallen for a couple of them—raw attraction was not to be underestimated—but had quickly regained her senses, and put herself firmly behind the controls.

  Finally, with Greg Bayliss, she sensed a chance for it all: a great-looking guy with deep pockets who was stuck on her. It’d been six weeks since the first time they had sex—the night she’d made him chicken cordon bleu—and every time they got together, he couldn’t get enough. Because of his schedule (school, basketball and volunteering, of all things) it hadn’t been as often as she wanted, but there was nothing wrong with keeping a man hungry.

  So she was frustrated when they neared Lake George and Greg announced he had to be back in Adams by noon on Sunday. His parents, he said, had called the night before to say they’d be stopping by on their way home from a week in Montreal and wanted to take him to lunch. Janine had hoped her weekend with Greg would last longer—through Sunday night, in fact—but made sure her tone was light when she spoke.

  “Oh, that’s fine. I have a lot to do at home before Monday.” For an instant she wondered why he didn’t invite her along to lunch, but decided meeting his parents at this stage might not help her cause. What if their idea of a daughter-in-law didn’t include widowed secretaries? No, she would put that off as long as she could. “Where are you going with your folks?”

  “The Greenville Inn.”

  Of course. Nothing in Adams would do for the big city elite. “I adore their popovers. We should go sometime.”

  He nodded, or she thought he did, and turned up the radio. That Neil Young song, “Heart of Gold,” was on. Greg sang along in a clear tenor, playing it straight at first, then hamming it up, strumming an air guitar and howling mournfully during the chorus. She laughed and forgave him his devotion to his parents.

  • • •

  On Sunday, they were delayed by an accident on the bridge over Champlain and didn’t get to her house until eleven forty-five.

  Greg dropped the keys into her palm and grabbed his bag from the backseat. She scrambled out of the car and he came around to give her a quick hug. “Sorry to rush off. I had a blast.”

  “Me, too.” A blast? Oh well. She supposed it was apt enough for an eight-orgasm weekend, not that she was counting. “See you tomorrow at the monkey house.”

  He was already in the Pinto, pulling the keys from above the visor. “You bet.” He backed out, waved as he passed her, and headed up the drive.

  She watched him join the main road and waved to him again. He faced straight ahead, eyes on the road. He hadn’t thought to look at her one more time.

  The air was chilly where she stood under the oak. Clouds had knitted together in the last hour or so, shutting off the sun. Janine rubbed her arms and retrieved her bag from the car. It would have been a perfect afternoon to curl up with Greg on the couch, maybe watch a movie or even a football game. She didn’t get football, but if Greg wanted to watch it, she would. Maybe she’d in
vite him over next weekend for a game, some beers and onion dip. God, listen to me, she thought. She’d have to watch herself. She was beginning to sound like a schoolgirl with a crush.

  She unpacked, made coffee and sat at the kitchen table, leafing through the newspaper. She glanced at the horoscopes but rejected the idea of an easy glimpse into her future and moved on to the entertainment listings. It’d been ages since she’d seen a movie. Lady Sings the Blues was playing in Montpelier and the matinee at two was the last showing. What better way to blow a couple of hours than listening to Diana Ross?

  Parking was tight, so the previews were nearly over by the time she entered the darkened room. She preferred to sit close to the front but saw from the array of heads she’d have to climb over people, and chose instead a spot a few seats in near the middle. An elderly couple took the first two seats in her row. The woman had difficulty arranging her coat, purse and popcorn—how difficult could it be?—and got up several times, clucking all the while, until she was satisfied.

  The Paramount logo of the mountain with the circle of stars appeared on the screen. Light from the lobby spilled into the far side of the room, then it became dark again as the door closed. Janine glanced at the latecomers, two of them, their faces shadowed. She watched as they stood shoulder to shoulder looking for seats. There was something familiar about them, their outlines.

  Two rows behind Janine’s, the couple slid in, crouching, moving past angled legs, and sat down about a dozen seats to her right. The woman, or the one who seemed to be a woman, bent and disappeared behind the seat back. The light from the screen shone on the man’s face. Janine stared, unbelieving. Greg. What the hell was he doing here?

  Before she could begin to calculate whether he had time to drive to Montpelier after having lunch with his parents, the person next to him straightened. A woman. Young. Light flashed and her features were illuminated. April Honeycutt. That little blonde kitten. April flicked her hair and smiled at Greg. Janine’s stomach lurched. She sank into the seat.

  Her mind raced, running through the possibilities, doing the calculations. He’d met his parents, then come to movies. He’d run into April, either here or at the inn. She was new in town; it was friendly of him. Greg would have made it to the inn at noon at the earliest. Lunch would take—what?—an hour, an hour and a half? His parents would have wanted to be on their way. They had a lot of driving in front of them. It would have taken him thirty minutes tops to get to Montpelier. He’d seen April buying her ticket, or maybe she approached him—why wouldn’t she?—and he couldn’t do anything other than invite her to sit with him.

  On the screen, Diana Ross, barely recognizable, was being tossed into a cell like a slab of meat. Janine stole a glance at Greg and April. The scene was so dark, little light reflected on them. The scene shifted, black-and-white photographs. A band of light washed over the audience. Janine stared as April covered her eyes with one hand and clenched Greg’s shirtsleeve with the other. The little bitch! Janine grabbed the arms of her seat to stop herself from vaulting over the rows and smashing that face with its pert little nose. How dare she touch him! Or grab his shirt! Janine watched him put it on this morning in their romantic, lakeside room, after his shower. After he’d washed off her.

  Blood rushed to her head. She had to get out of there, but if Greg or that blonde bitch saw her, she’d lose it. She slouched in the seat and forced herself to stare at the screen. Diana Ross was flipping out, crazy or in withdrawal. Men stuck her in a straitjacket. Janine didn’t give a damn. She just needed it to be dark for ten seconds so she could split. The camera zoomed in and the music got louder. Janine clutched her bag to her chest, whispered, “Excuse me,” to the woman next to her. The woman startled. Janine got up and pushed past, hitting the woman’s knees and her husband’s, too. She stooped and darted for the exit. She pulled open the door and fled into the light.

  She didn’t remember much about the drive home. Her mind was filled with the image of April pawing Greg. As soon as she opened the front door, she threw her purse on the table and went straight to the bottle of good red wine she’d bought to share with Greg that evening when she thought they might end up here, before he told her about his parents visiting. Had that all been a crock of shit? Had he actually blown her off because he wanted a few hours, or a whole night, with Little Miss Honeybutt?

  She opened the bottle, filled her glass and drained it in two gulps. She refilled her glass, carried it to the living room and sat heavily onto the couch. Get a goddamn grip, Janine. What if Greg actually had lunch with his folks and met April by accident at the theater? Maybe she was the touchy-feely type. Maybe pawing Greg didn’t mean a thing, but Janine had to find out. She’d invested so much energy into Greg, launched a campaign to get him to the point where he’d propose to her as if it was meant to be. He wasn’t on the verge of asking yet—making someone fall in love with you couldn’t be rushed—but she’d made real progress. And somehow, her heart had gotten tangled up in the strings of the web she was weaving. Ideally, her emotions would have been sidelined. She hadn’t needed to fall in love with Mitch to have been married to him for ten years. It hadn’t been a fairy tale, but she hadn’t minded. Then he had to go and die. Bastard!

  Janine poured the last of the wine with an unsteady hand, cursing the fact that Greg had gotten under her skin. The way he’d looked at her across the table last night at the lakeside restaurant, drinking her in with tender fascination. She hadn’t imagined it. And she hadn’t imagined how she’d felt in response: liquid, naked, open. Recalling the moment and her vulnerability brought a surge of sadness and fear, as it struck her what losing him might truly mean. She wanted him to know her, to love her, to care for her, and she wanted to make him happier than he’d ever been because she loved him. Janine wiped tears from her eyes. She willed herself to stop crying but the tears fell and fell. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life alone. She wanted to spend it with Greg.

  Janine sank into the couch and cried until her tears were spent. She pulled a tissue from the box on the side table, blew her nose and finished the last of the wine. Her feelings for Greg were real, as much as she could tell. All the more reason to find out whether April Honeycutt had her claws in him. Greg was an idealistic man-child and easily led around by the nose, and Janine vowed to stop whatever plan April had in her vacuous blonde head. Greg was hers.

  29

  Alison

  Alison woke to the sounds of her parents talking loudly downstairs in their bedroom. She couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but her mother repeated the same thing over and over: “You were talking about me.” No way Alison could go back to sleep, so she threw on some clothes and tiptoed down from the attic. As she passed her parents’ room, her father sounded really hacked off.

  “I wasn’t. I was talking to Randall about his truck. Now, that’s the third time I’ve said it and I’m done.”

  “But you were.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake. I’ve got three oil changes to get to this morning, plus God knows how many state inspections. I can’t stand here and argue in circles with you.”

  Alison paused at the top of the stairs, holding her breath.

  Her mom’s voice was lower than before. “I’m sorry, Walt. I guess I had a bad dream. A nightmare.”

  Alison went down to the kitchen and opened the fridge. No milk. Yesterday she’d used the last two pieces of bread to make a sandwich, but she checked the bread box anyway and found an open package of English muffins. Through the plastic she could see that the last two muffins were covered in green mold.

  Her father walked in. “Morning, Alison.”

  “Hi. There’s nothing to eat.”

  “Nothing?” He opened the cabinet next to her. “There’s oatmeal. And your cereal.”

  “No milk.”

  “There’s Pop-Tarts.”

  “Lester would have a cow. He counts them.”


  Her father sighed and hung his head like it’d gotten heavy. “When Warren gets up, I’ll send him to the store. You make a list for him, all right?”

  “Sure.” She opened the freezer. “Did you eat already?”

  “Just coffee.”

  “I’m having ice cream. You want some?”

  He smiled a little. “No, but you go ahead. I’m off to the mine.” He patted her shoulder as he passed behind her and went into the garage.

  Alison watched cartoons and ate strawberry ice cream straight from the container. She almost got up to check for some chocolate syrup, but then Elmer Fudd came on and she didn’t want to miss any of it. When she’d had enough ice cream, she put it on the coffee table. Sally waltzed in, jumped up and sniffed the container.

  “Help yourself.”

  Sally licked the rim suspiciously. Elmer Fudd stomped off into the sunset, muttering about Bugs Bunny. Alison flicked off the television, got the notepad from under the phone and started on the shopping list: milk, bread, Oreos, bananas, bologna.

  “Anything special you’d like, Sally?”

  Sally looked up for a moment, then went back to her licking. Alison thought maybe she should put down something for dinner, just in case, so she added carrots (her favorite), potatoes, butter (potatoes were gross without it) and hamburger. She chewed the pen cap. The menu was too boring. She added Hamburger Helper and put a smiley face next to it.

  Somebody clomped down the stairs. Warren appeared in the doorway. He must have skipped looking in the mirror because his hair was sticking straight up on one side.

  “Don’t let the cat eat ice cream.”

  “It’s pretty much gone.”

  “It’s gross.”

  “Not according to Sally.” Alison got up and gave him the shopping list. “Dad wants you to go to the store.”