The Meryl Streep Movie Club

by Mia March

  No one pushed Lolly about the big announcement. They’d learned growing up that when Lolly, the most secretive person on earth, was ready to say something, she would. When forks were finally rested on plates—after ten minutes, really, since no one ate much—Lolly stood up, seemed flustered, then sat back down.

  “Mom?” Kat asked. “Are you all right?”

  “No,” Lolly said, glancing at her plate. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, looking at each woman. “I have something to say. Something difficult. I… found out a few days ago that I have pancreatic cancer.”

  Kat bolted up, knocking over her wineglass. “What? What?”

  Lolly righted the glass, then put her hand over Kat’s. “I know this is shocking and is going to be tough to hear.” She took a deep breath. “It doesn’t look very good.”

  Acid burned Isabel’s throat and sharp pricks of tears hit the backs of her eyes. This couldn’t be.

  “I’m going to fight it, of course, though it’s advanced. Chemotherapy can manage the symptoms, slow the progression, but—” She glanced at Kat, then across the table at Isabel and June. “Sneaky bastard managed to get to stage four before I was diagnosed. There’s no stage five.”

  Isabel felt a hollowness spread in her stomach. She wanted to get up, go to Lolly, go to Kat, who had covered her face with her hands. But Lolly stood up, said she’d be right back, and went into the kitchen.

  “This can’t be,” Isabel whispered to Kat and June, who both sat there, looking stricken, their faces pale.

  Lolly returned with the German chocolate initial cake and set it in the middle of the table. “I saw this cake cooling earlier in the kitchen, and I stood there looking at it and started crying—and you know I’m not a crier. So I doubly knew it was the right thing to ask you all to come tonight. I didn’t want to tell you two over the phone,” Lolly said to Isabel and June. “And, Kat, I didn’t want to tell you without the four of us being together. We haven’t been together in years. We’ve never really been together, have we?”

  Together. Isabel used her napkin to wipe under her eyes. She glanced at her aunt, just fifty-two years old, looking so herself, so strong, so the way she always did. Her blue eyes sparkled, her cheeks were rosy. She looked healthy.

  Isabel and June both fired questions at Lolly, but she held up her hand, and they went silent.

  “Isabel and June,” Lolly said, slicing the cake, “maybe you both could stay a bit, even just the weekend or the week. I’m going to be starting chemotherapy on Monday, and I’ll need some help. I’ve long had the inn booked for Labor Day weekend and most of the fall.”

  “I can stay the week, longer if you’d like,” Isabel said, clearly surprising everyone enough that they all turned to stare at her.

  June shot her sister the same incredulous look that Kat did, then turned back to Lolly. “Me too.”

  Lolly nodded. “Good. Thank you. Though, I just realized I was so upset about the diagnosis that I wasn’t paying attention and okayed reservations for this weekend and during the week and of course for Labor Day weekend, and now I don’t have a room for one of you. I figured June and Charlie could stay in Kat’s old room, and Isabel, if it’s not too tiny, maybe we could bring a cot up to the Alone Closet.”

  “Or Isabel and June could stay in my room with me, and Charlie can have my old room across the hall,” Kat said, then clamped her mouth shut as though even she couldn’t believe she’d offered her sanctuary.

  “Sure you don’t mind?” June asked. “Charlie is a very light sleeper, so it would be great to give him your old little room.”

  “I don’t mind,” Kat said. “Okay with you, Isabel?”

  Everyone stared at her, the one they all expected to say, No way, it’s not okay. She nodded, unsure if it would be okay but finding herself a bit comforted by the idea of not being alone in a room with her thoughts.

  “Good, it’s settled then,” Lolly said. “Oh, and tonight, at nine, Pearl and two of our guests are coming for Movie Night. It’s Meryl Streep month. Maybe you three can join us. We’re watching The Bridges of Madison County, one of my favorites. A movie to take me away is just what I need.”

  There were solemn nods around the table. Murmurs of “Of course we’ll stay and of course we’ll be there tonight for the movie and whatever else you need.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Isabel saw June’s hand reach out just slightly as if to take Isabel’s, but Isabel didn’t notice in time and June retreated. Isabel closed her eyes at the memory of the last time June had reached out her hand for Isabel’s. On a day much like this one, when Lolly had sat the three girls down on the old red sofa in the parlor and told them there had been an accident, that their parents were gone, that Kat’s father was gone. Then, Isabel had taken her sister’s hand, and they’d sat there, clutching hands and not speaking, tears rolling down their faces, and Kat had started howling and run out the door. Lolly was all any of them had.

  And now she might not be either.

  With three nestled bowls in her hands, Isabel stood behind Kat at the stove, where Kat shook the big popcorn pot. Lolly didn’t believe in microwave popcorn from a bag. For Movie Night, only hot oil, kernels from the farmers’ market, a few shakes of the handle, and a generous sprinkle of salt would do.

  Isabel hung on to the small details, finding the right oil for the popcorn in Lolly’s huge pantry—canola, according to Kat—helping Kat frost the lemon custard cupcakes while June went to put Charlie to bed in Kat’s old tiny room on the third floor, and bringing in extra padded folding chairs from the closet for the guests. Focusing on all this, on making sure each yellow cupcake was evenly frosted with Kat’s lemon icing, on finding the three big ceramic bowls for the popcorn, on placing the chairs just so in the parlor, was all that stood between Isabel and her knees buckling.

  Her husband. With another woman.

  Her aunt. Stricken with cancer.

  Isabel. Here.

  Kat started to shake the pot with all her might, and Isabel expected her to fling it at the wall any second and howl. Isabel could tell from the subtle movements of Kat’s narrow shoulders that she was crying. Isabel glanced at June, who came back into the kitchen, her own eyes glistening.

  “Let me,” Isabel said, taking the handle. Kat stepped back, tears streaming down her cheeks. Isabel shook the pot, tears welling. Aunt Lolly had always seemed as strong as the clichéd ox. She’d rarely had a cold. And now…

  “She could have years,” June said, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s strong.”

  “She is strong,” Isabel agreed, turning around. “She always has been and she is now.”

  “What the hell do either of you know about my mother?” Kat said. “When’s the last time you were here? Either of you? Last Christmas? It’s August.”

  As Isabel stared at her sister in shock, Kat covered her face with her hands and she dropped to her knees in front of the stove. She was sobbing.

  Isabel and June both knelt beside her.

  “Kat, of course we care,” Isabel said, pushing Kat’s blond hair out of her face and behind her ear. “Your mother is all we have.”

  Kat bolted up and stormed out the back door.

  “Oh, God,” June said. “What do we do? Go after her? Leave her be?”

  Isabel peered out the kitchen window to see if Kat was out there, sitting on a chaise or on the big rock at the far end of the huge yard. But she didn’t see her. Isabel herself wanted to run. And stay. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I always say the wrong thing to Kat.”

  “Lolly is all we have,” June said. “I know how you meant it, Isabel. And so did Kat. She’s just beside herself. We’ll get through this. And Lolly will be okay.”

  Isabel let out the breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. She nodded, unable
to say anything.

  The back door opened, and Kat came in, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. “Sorry. I’m just… freaked.”

  “We know,” Isabel said, reaching out a hand to rub Kat’s arm. At least Kat didn’t shrink back.

  Kat stared at the floor for a moment. “Is Charlie all set?” she asked June. “I can bring in a fan if it’s too hot in that little room.”

  “He’s fine,” June said, twisting her long hair into a side braid. “He was asleep before I even shut the door behind me. Henry took him clamming in the mudflats earlier and—”

  “Girls, everyone’s ready,” Pearl called, poking her white-gray head through the swinging door of the kitchen. “I’ll bring in the cupcakes.” She came in and took the round tray, stopping to glance at the three of them. Clearly she knew about Lolly. “A movie can take you right out of yourself for a couple of hours. Movies are magic like that. Come, dears.”

  Isabel filled the three big bowls with the hot popcorn and handed one to Kat, one to June, and took one herself. “We’ll talk more after the movie,” she said to Kat. “Okay?”

  Kat wouldn’t look at Isabel, but she gave something of a nod and led the way to the parlor, where Lolly, looking as if everything were just fine, as if it were an ordinary Friday night, was placing a disc into the DVD player.

  “Everyone ready for Meryl and Clint?” Lolly asked. “Doesn’t get much better than those two.”

  No one questioned why Lolly Weller wanted to watch a movie, favorite actress or otherwise, on a night such as this, when she’d just told her daughter and nieces that she had cancer, that the prognosis wasn’t good. Growing up, they’d heard the stories about how Lolly, just eighteen years old and heartbroken over a friend’s death in a swimming accident, had gone to see The Deer Hunter because of an article she’d read in the newspaper about Meryl Streep—whose first name was really Mary Louise, just like Lolly’s—and her fiancé, a celebrated actor who’d died young of cancer. And later, how Lolly had gotten through that first year as a widow raising her daughter and orphaned nieces by losing herself in Meryl’s weepiest dramas, and when she’d finally been able to watch a comedy, she’d rented Defending Your Life and smiled, laughed, even, for what seemed the first time since that tragic New Year’s Eve.

  Movie Night had been an inn tradition for decades. In the early nineties, a guest asked if Lolly had a VCR so she could rent the movie version of a book she’d just finished, Sophie’s Choice. Lolly had seen the film and been so deeply moved that it was one of the few movies—and maybe the only Meryl Streep movie—that she was sure she could never bear to see again. She’d lent the woman her VCR, but then had bought a fancy one for the parlor, a large, cozy room that faced the harbor, replaced the ancient nineteen-inch with a thirty-two-inch, and stocked the cabinet with her favorite films, and she and Pearl had designated Friday nights as Movie Night. At first they each picked a movie, but then they decided on themes. Forties month. Robert De Niro month. Food month. Foreign month. Romantic-comedy month. Sissy Spacek month. Last month was John Travolta.

  Meryl Streep month was just nine months ago, and Isabel, who occasionally came for Movie Night during holidays, had been riveted by Julie & Julia last Christmas. There was rarely discussion about the movies they watched; Pearl often fell asleep a half hour in. But Friday Movie Night was a tradition at the Three Captains’ Inn, the back wall of the parlor devoted to black-and-white, glossy photos of Lolly’s favorite actors and actresses in antique frames. There were three of Meryl Streep at various ages. Clint Eastwood. Al Pacino. Sissy Spacek, another favorite of Lolly’s. Tommy Lee Jones. Cher. Brad Pitt. Susan Sarandon. Kate Winslet. Keanu Reeves, who Lolly thought was sexy. Rachel McAdams and Emma Stone, young actresses who Lolly thought “had something.”

  And now Isabel knew why her aunt had chosen to make it Meryl Streep month again. Lolly had always said that a Meryl Streep movie was as good as a chicken soup, a best friend, a therapist, and a stiff drink.

  If only it could cure cancer too, Isabel thought as she sat on the cushy love seat with her sister, their backs against the many soft throw pillows, and placed the bowl of popcorn on the ottoman in front of them. Lolly and Pearl were on the white sofa, iced tea, wine, cupcakes, and popcorn on the old steamer trunk, supposedly found at the bottom of the Atlantic, that served as a coffee table. Kat, tying knots with the long red rope of Twizzlers that Isabel remembered was her favorite childhood movie snack, was on the big, flowered beanbag by Lolly’s feet. And Carrie, a thirtyish guest at the inn—not the chatty one from earlier—who mentioned her husband was upstairs watching baseball, was on the high-backed, overstuffed chair, a cupcake and popcorn on a plate on her lap.

  Kat bolted up and went running out, and Lolly put down the remote and went after her. Isabel shot a glance at June; her sister’s eyes were teary like her own. In a few minutes, Lolly and Kat were back, Kat’s expression grim, but she sat and started tying her Twizzlers in knots again.

  Lolly turned out the lights and pressed PLAY on the remote control for the DVD player, which Lolly had upgraded years ago, along with the big-screen TV. At first, Isabel wanted to escape to her room, until she realized the rooms were booked and she was sharing Kat’s bedroom. With June, as well. At least here in the parlor, she’d have a good two hours to sit in the dark, no one questioning her about Edward’s absence.

  Anyway, now, no one would have to wonder what was wrong. Her aunt had cancer.

  As people filled the screen, Isabel was barely interested. When she realized she was watching the adult children of a mother who’d just died, tears welled up in her eyes. A brother and sister, in their early forties, going through their mother’s things in an Iowa farmhouse. Via a letter their mother left for them, they discover there had been another man in her life.

  Suddenly, they were back in the past with Meryl Streep, an Iowa housewife by way of Italy, with her beautiful face and long brown hair, her Italian accent, saying good-bye to her husband and teenaged children for four days while they attended a county fair. And there was Clint Eastwood, a photographer looking for a certain covered bridge, which Meryl would be happy to show him, since it was hard to find.

  Then in the smallest gestures, in the most simple questions, Meryl’s character fell deeply in love with the man who reminded her of the woman she might have been, a life she might have had. When Clint asked her to leave her husband and children and come with him, on the road, to not give up this once-in-a-lifetime love, her first reaction was yes.

  Then it was no. She couldn’t destroy her husband and children. Or the love between her and Clint. By going with him.

  The test came on the day Clint was leaving. Behind his truck, at a red light, was Meryl and her husband in their old pickup. Meryl gripped the door’s handle. If she was going to go with Clint, this was her chance. She’d have to do it now, when so presented with the chance to switch trucks, lives. She’d have to open that door and go. Isabel’s breath caught as she watched Meryl Streep, in emotional agony, tighten her hand on the handle. She won’t go, Isabel thought. She won’t. When she didn’t, Isabel let out her breath.

  As the credits rolled, Pearl stood up and began gathering empty plates. “Wasn’t that wonderful! I think I’ve seen it three times now, and each time it’s like the first time, even though I know how it ends.”

  “Meryl Streep is a marvelous actress,” the guest Carrie said. “I don’t think she’s ever looked more beautiful than in The Bridges of Madison County.”

  “She’s stunning,” Kat agreed, and Isabel and June both nodded.

  Lolly stood and pressed EJECT and put the DVD back in the case. “It’s one of my all-time favorites. I’ve seen it three times too, Pearl, and each time I see more and hear more.” Lolly glanced at her daughter, then at Isabel and June. “I’m glad you girls came. It’s been such a day that I think I’m just going to turn in. I’ll see everyone bright and ea
rly in the morning—six thirty for our breakfast in the kitchen.”

  As Lolly and Pearl started to head out, June said, “No discussion? I can’t even move I’m so shaken by Francesca’s choice.”

  “Shaken by her choice? You mean to stay with her family?” Isabel asked as Lolly sat back down next to her.

  They all bid good-bye to Pearl, whose husband was waiting outside in his car to pick her up.

  June reached for a cupcake and took a bite. “She betrayed herself.”

  Isabel stared at her sister. “She betrayed herself? So if she’d left, she wouldn’t have been betraying her husband and children? Her vows? It was bad enough that she gave in to her attraction for another man in the first place.”

  “Well, I totally understood why she did,” Kat said, getting off the beanbag to stretch her legs. She sat down on the sofa. “Clint gave her back a piece of herself. And I like how she asked him to stay for dinner only after he said those very key words: ‘I know exactly how you feel.’ That’s all anyone wants. Someone who understands them.”

  “That’s what everyone wants, but sometimes it just can’t be,” Lolly said, glancing out the window, and Isabel wondered what she was thinking about, but Lolly didn’t say anything else.

  Isabel leaned her head back against the cushions. Edward obviously didn’t think she understood him. Maybe she couldn’t understand him since she’d changed. Just as he couldn’t understand her.

  But that was what working on your marriage meant. Marriage was hard work. You didn’t just give in to romance, to a lack of responsibility. Meryl’s character had fallen in love with the traveling photographer the minute he said he knew where she was from, that he’d been there. Because Bari was who she was, deep inside.

  Isabel felt the tears threaten again. Carolyn Chenowith connected with Edward McNeal on a base level? How was that possible? It was Isabel who was from where he was from. Isabel who’d lost her parents as he had. Isabel who had cried herself to sleep for months, as he had. Isabel who’d been by his side for fifteen years, since they were sixteen years old.