The kitchen was the hub of the house and where any talk took place unlike the other common rooms: the living room was for stiff visits with strangers, the dining room, with its display of her mother's collection of antique china plates on the wall, was never used except for holidays, and the den was for television watching. Although the den was the most unlikely room for discussion as it was strongly frowned upon - a body was trying to watch something and relax - each room in the house discouraged the frank conversation that the big sunny yellow kitchen invited. Well, as frank as they got in her family, where a person was judged by what they did, not what they said.
"Good. Glad to hear it. David wanted to talk to you. Now, I told him not to bother you, that you're all grown up and having a family now, but he won't stop asking since he moved back home."
Kate gasped. "Moved back home? What happened? What about the group home?"
"They couldn't keep him. He wouldn't go to work. He's home now."
"Oh, Dad, I'm so sorry?"
"There's nothing for you to be sorry about. David has his problems; you know that better than most."
"But you and Mom can't handle him and the farm?"
"We'll get by. Now, he wants to talk to you, so I'm going to go get him. I didn't want to get him too excited in case you weren't home. Hold on."
Kate looked up at Grant, who had approached where she stood cradling the phone in both hands. His face was a question. She whispered to answer it, "David was let go from Respite House. He's back at the farm."
Grant sagged a little and shook his head just as there was a clattering on the other end of the line of the receiver being grabbed up.
"Katie? Is it you?"
"Yes, David. How are you?"
"I'm good! I had alphabet soup today. Mom made it. But it wasn't like when you do it. Because she didn't sing the 'ABC' song. I wanted her to sing it, but she wouldn't. But it was nice to have the soup. And you know what?"
"What?"
"Mom's gonna let me help with the vegetable garden! We're gonna grow vegetables! Well, there are already vegetable plants, but I'll be helping."
"That's wonderful. I'm sure you'll be great at helping with the vegetables," Kate said, feeling more distressed by the moment and trying to keep her voice calm and soothing. Her parents would have to watch him constantly, at least until he got some kind of routine down. And they were bad about that, often too busy to focus on him enough, thinking him grown. But he wasn't. And he could never help with the cows because he was afraid of them.
"When are you coming home, Katie? I miss you."
Kate opened and shut her mouth like a fish while she tried to think of how to explain it once again. What could she say that would make him remember? She gave up and repeated her old explanation, one that seemed worn and pointless now. "Grant and I moved to Connecticut? Remember when I showed you on the map? We have a dermatology practice here, for skin? To help people? And we're going to have our family here."
"Why?"
"Because the patients have money here and Grant and I will be able to afford to have a nice home and good things for our children," Kate said, her argument weak even to her own ears. Why had they come? What had convinced her that Fairfield County would be their Shangri-La, that it would be worth all they were sacrificing?
"I don't understand. Can I come? I miss you!"
"I miss you, too? I miss all of you?"
"Then you'll come home now."
"I can't, sweetie."
They went back and forth like this for a few minutes more and then, frustrated and tearful, David hung up on her. Kate slowly put the phone back in its charger and looked up at Grant, who was leaning over the dishwasher and putting his rinsed dish and utensils in it. He straightened as she hung up and looked at her before saying, "You don't have to say a word. I know what you want, and I guess-"
Kate shook her head quickly and said, "No, I don't know what I want, so you can't know. I know I asked for him to move in with us, but I'm not sure anymore. I feel like every choice I make is the wrong one? I'm sorry I made us come here."
"That's not true," Grant said. "We decided together. You were the gung-ho one, but it seemed like the right thing?"
"Was it?" Kate asked.
Grant only shrugged and went to her. "Come on," Grant said, putting his arm around her and leading her toward the den. "Let's watch some of that reality television you love, that Real Housewives show we TiVo'ed? Our lives will look incredibly normal and calm in comparison."
Kate laughed in spite of her feeling of descending gloom, letting Grant lead her to the couch. Maybe that was all she needed, a little perspective. But all through the show while ridiculously wealthy women had catty fights, she kept hearing David's hurt voice, confused and scared without his Katie. She also kept seeing her aging parents, who were struggling to hold on to the farm, now having to handle a full-grown man who was mentally the age of a five year old, a man who was afraid of cows on a dairy farm.
Strawberry Daiquiri
Chelsea turned and watched the door shut behind Kate with dismay. What had just happened? They were having a wonderful time for a minute there and Chelsea had been thoroughly enjoying herself, the whistles and admiring looks coming from the men at the bar sending happy erotic sparks pinging through her. Then Sharon had to go and ruin everything. Well, not really. Chelsea caught a cute muscular guy staring at her who was wearing some kind of gray uniform and sitting at the end of the bar. He raised his glass to her and she twitched with pleasure before turning back to the table.
"Well, that went well," Sharon said.
"What did you expect? You just said Bianca pushed Kate down the stairs and made her lose her baby!" Chelsea said.
"I didn't really say that. I said that I thought I saw something. I didn't say I definitely saw it."
"Well, how could you say it at all?"
"Because...," Sharon said, sitting back and eying Chelsea. "I've had a weird not-so-good feeling about Bianca. Over and over again, too. And just, thinking I saw something, I knew I had to meet with you guys and talk it out. Kate was the only one who would know for sure whether she was pushed, so I had to ask her. Now she's angry and I'm sorry. I love Kate. I really do. But this is just too serious to avoid and ignore any longer. Especially if I'm right."
"Well, you're not. Kate didn't feel anything."
Lucie interrupted, "Did she say that? She didn't say that. She just got mad. Super defensive."
Chelsea said, "Loyal is another word for it. She's just standing up for her friend. Any good friend would do that."
Sharon leaned forward again, "But what if Bianca really means her harm?"
"I don't get it," Chelsea said. "What would make you say that?"
"I told you, I get a really bad vibe."
"Well, I don't. Bianca is an angel," Chelsea said, feeling guilt hit her again. It was true. And now that both she and John knew the truth of that, there was no way to excuse what they were doing. Last night they had finally made love again, but it was sad and slow instead of exciting and fast. They had looked into each other's eyes the whole time, searching.
"You've known Bianca since high school, right?" Sharon said. "Has she ever hurt anyone else intentionally? Like physically harmed them?"
Chelsea felt her eyes grow wide with anxiety and she picked up her Alabama Slammer, which had just been placed in front of her looking just as juicy and delicious as a strawberry daiquiri, a drink that was hard to find lately as it required a blender and bottled mix, a defunct old-school drink among today's ubiquitous flavored martinis. She took a sip to stall her answer. She couldn't tell the truth about Bianca's impulsive act of destruction in high school, an over-the-top loyal act of a friend retaliating on behalf of her bestie.
It had all happened because of Homecoming Queen, which Chelsea had been nominated for on one of the most glorious and exciting days of her high school life. Suddenly, she was going to be a queen, destined to win and ride in splendor in an open car around
the football field before the homecoming dance where she would be crowned. There would even be a parade down Main Street, with her waving regally from a decorated float. She practiced her best smile and royal wave in front of the bathroom mirror, the door shut against her critical older sisters. But Jenna Butler won instead, a pretty smart all-around winner-type with wavy light brown hair and an infectious smile, who happened to be head cheerleader, too. It was fair, Chelsea had said, trying to be brave about it. But Bianca had seen how crushed Chelsea was, had somehow known that Chelsea cried every night in bed for a week afterwards. And that was why Bianca had done it.
The car bomb, Bianca insisted, had been intended to go off an hour before while Jenna was in class, blowing up her prized electric-blue Mazda Miata and showing Jenna that she couldn't have everything, couldn't get away with stealing that crown from its rightful owner. But Jenna had just started the car when it went off, and it killed her. Well, it didn't kill her right away, she passed away in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, but she had died and the investigation led them to the one person that had been seen near her car prior to the explosion: Bianca.
Luckily, Bianca's father produced an alibi conflicting with the time that the witness, a geeky sophomore, said he saw Bianca in the parking lot. Her father supposedly stopped by the school and picked Bianca up during her free period, taking her for a drive. Chelsea knew that it didn't happen, but also knew her father was aiming to start a career in politics and the last thing he needed was his daughter implicated in the murder of a classmate.
With no other evidence, the case against Bianca was closed. But then Bianca had been shipped off to a convent in upstate New York for the remainder of the year, returning the following summer looking like a concentration camp victim: all skin and bones. Bianca had shocked Chelsea when she shambled over to hug her when they saw each other again, making Chelsea feel as if she was being embraced by a Halloween skeleton. Bianca had explained everything to Chelsea, admitted what she had done was wrong while crying piteously.
Bianca said that, in the heat of the moment, it had all seemed so right, noble even. She had begged Chelsea not to tell anyone, saying the words that would echo in Chelsea's mind for years, "Don't tell anyone, please, whatever you do. And don't forget, Chel, you had a part in this. It would never have happened if it wasn't for you. You owe me."
Chelsea had lived with the guilt and horror by not letting herself think about it and reminding herself that loyalty and passion were dangerous things that could explode and hurt everyone involved. Putting her drink down, Chelsea cleared her throat and said, "No, Bianca would never hurt a friend, especially not Kate. Bianca's probably the most loyal person in the world."
"Are you saying she would hurt someone who wasn't a friend?" Lucie said.
Chelsea shook her head. "This conversation has gotten ridiculous. Can we please talk about something else? What about your business, Lucie? What's happening with it? Are things picking up?"
"No," Lucie said. "Sharon's right. We should talk about this."
"Chelsea," Sharon said. "I told you I wanted to talk about Bianca. You couldn't wait to hear all the gory details."
"Well, I didn't expect them to be this gory! Kate lost her baby! It was a terrible accident! An accident!"
Sharon narrowed her eyes. "There's something, isn't there? Something that happened?"
"No! Will you stop?" Chelsea said, feeling panic fluttering through her. She couldn't tell them, couldn't tell anyone. It was her fault it had happened in the first place. Bianca never did anything like that again, was so humbled and destroyed by it that it changed her utterly. Before, Bianca would say unkind things about other people, and sometimes would even pull cruel pranks on them, but she was so beautiful and clever, and Chelsea was so desperate for a good friend, that she looked the other way or laughed along with Bianca, a nervous cackle that sounded nothing like her natural laugh. After Bianca returned from the convent she was a new person, so kind and sweet that she was like a saint. She was like that to this day, a different woman. Her one sin, committed as a young and rash girl, deserved to be forgiven.
Looking at the other girl's intent faces, Chelsea knew they weren't going to let the subject go. So, she pulled an old maneuver from when she was still single and on a particularly abysmal date. Reaching in her purse, she said, "Oh, that's my phone. It's on vibrate. I've got to take this. It could be a job."
The other two girls quickly glanced at each other and shrugged, tilting their heads in acquiescence. Chelsea jumped up, carrying her phone and pretended to answer it as she walked away across the bar. The cute guy in the jumpsuit was still staring at her and she gave him a little flirtatious glance before walking out the door of the bar, feeling many pairs of eyes on her.
Standing in the parking lot, the warm day starting to cool and the moon appearing, a pale ghost in the sky, Chelsea relaxed and abandoned her fake phone call. She took a deep breath, still holding the phone. Go back in? No, the call had to last her at least a few minutes, and besides she needed to figure out an excuse to leave.
Just then a text came in from John. "How's it going at your mother's? RU coming back?"
Chelsea started to type in an answer and stopped. What she should do is call her mother and plan a real visit. Maybe even take her out, away from that dreary apartment. Chelsea had money now, could afford to treat her mother to a nice dinner. It was overdue.
Her mother answered on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Mom, it's Chelsea!"
"Well, hello. I haven't heard from you in a long time. How is my long lost daughter?"
"Oh, come on. April and Brooke aren't that much better, are they? April's always working and who knows where Brooke is these days? Have you heard from her?"
Her mother sighed and there was a pause as she dragged on her cigarette and then blew out the smoke, a habit she picked up after Chelsea's father died. "No. I haven't. Last time I spoke to Brooke was two Christmases ago. She was out in California then. You're right. You're all rotten kids. But I can't blame you for not wanting to visit. I'm not much fun these days."
"Are you still getting your checks?" Chelsea asked, inquiring about the disability her mother was able to collect due to her back injury.
"Yeah. Still rolling in the dough here," her mother said wryly.
"Mom, I want to take you out. Out for a really nice dinner. You name the place and we'll go."
"What? How can you afford that?"
"Let's just say I can. And I want to treat you," Chelsea said, thinking that she would also bring her mother flowers: yellow freesia, her favorite. Something to brighten up the gray-on-gray apartment in the low-income housing complex where she lived, where the hallways and the parking lot were even worse, graffiti and garbage everywhere. At least her mother's run-down apartment's interior was kept clean and tidy.
"My, my, my. My little girl's come up in the world." Although she was being sarcastic, Chelsea could tell her mother might be a little impressed as well.
"No, nothing like April."
"Well, for all April's success, she doesn't share the wealth with anyone but herself," her mother said and then took another audible drag on her cigarette. "You know? I'd love to. There's this fancy seafood place on the water in Stratford I'd like to go to, Daniel's Harborside. I heard their oysters Rockefeller are superb. You can afford that?"
"Of course I can. Let's make a date."
They finalized their plans and hung up, but before they did, Chelsea's mother said something she hadn't said to Chelsea in many years: she said "I love you".
Smiling and a little weepy, Chelsea hung up. That was it: she'd tell the girls it was her mother on the phone. She had, indeed, just talked to her. And she could tell John honestly about the plans she and her mother had made to go out for dinner, something that John would instantly approve of as he worshipped both of his deceased parents and spoke of them often.
She sent a quick text reply to John: "All good. CU soon." And hoped he wo
uld take it as a cue to come over. Maybe tonight things would be better between them. She knew that if they didn't get better, she couldn't take it much longer. While their lovemaking and passion had cooled, their arguments had heated up more and more. The boiling point would be reached soon.
Crossing O'Malley's dining floor for a third time under the increasingly wolfish attention from the bar, probably due to more beer being consumed, Chelsea approached the booth where the two women were talking quietly and sipping their drinks. She came to a stop in front of the table and held up her cell. "I've gotta go. That was my mother."
"Oh? Is she okay?" Lucie said, looking distressed.
"She needs to see me."
"Wow," Sharon said. "I thought I was close with my parents. But no, that's great that she can count on you."
Chelsea said, shrugging and refusing to feel guilty, "I try. Well, it was good to see you both."
"You haven't even finished your drink?" Sharon said, nodding at it.
"Oh," Chelsea said, plucked up her purse, pulled out her wallet, and put down a twenty. "This should cover it."
"And two more," Sharon said, eyebrows raised.
"I don't have change. I better go. See you!" Chelsea said, plastering a brilliant Homecoming Queen smile on her face and turning away. This time, as she crossed back to the door to the parking lot, the men at the bar weren't the only ones staring and speculating, the burning sensation of the girls' eyes on Chelsea's back unmistakable.
Chardonnay
Lucie took a bite of the huge onion ring, and the crackling-crisp batter-dipped exterior gave way under her teeth, yielding a puff of contained onion-scented steam and a softened bit of onion. She nodded, an impressed little frown on her lips. "Not bad."
Cocktail Hour Page 33