Becoming Lin

by Tricia Dower

  The GA from Texas, who looks so much like Captain Kangaroo he signs autographs for unsuspecting kids (according to Shirley, he spells it Kangeroo) said he wouldn’t mind recruiting “gals w/out papooses” (good grief) or even a widow w/them, if she’s hard up. She’d have a heck of a good story to tell, he said, like if my husband hadn’t been such a chuckleberry & had insured “hisself” proper, I wouldn’t have to do this. What a chuckleberry he is.

  Leaping right in where angels fear & so on, I said it’s an ideal job for a woman w/kids. She can arrange her schedule to accommodate her responsibilities. The GA from Idaho said he didn’t want anyone who’d be distracted by domestic duties. The Indiana GA looked right at me & said real women stay home where they belong, they don’t know how lucky they are, getting to be their own boss, no time clock to punch. Trying to help, Sir Galahad from Colorado said “his” gal is a married mom & sells circles around most of the guys.

  My antenna was tuned to the New Hampshire GA because he’s originally from England & Shirley had said she thought “a good smashing up the arse” might be a British expression. Anyway, he said zip against working women during the meeting so I doubt he’s the one. On the way back to our floor, Mr. B said good show, you didn’t back down, & I went cold. Could he have learned expressions like “good show” and “smashing up the arse” overseas during the war? Did he send that message to test me, to see if I’d abandon the job in fear? Well I didn’t & I won’t. Maybe it’s an Australian expression, not British. Whatever, I’m sick of seeing bad guys everywhere, tired of my stomach hurting from dread.

  56

  Ron is at her door, his face flushed from the heat. Her hand flies to her throat. It’s Sunday. He should be in Prairie Fire. “Tavis?”

  He steps in and grips her shoulders. “He’s fine. Home with Mom.”

  She smiles in relief. “Let me guess, then. You couldn’t wait to see me again?”

  “No. Yes, of course. But that’s not it. We need to talk.” His eyes look troubled.

  “Hmm, sounds ominous.” She says it lightly but her heart flutters.

  No comment from him.

  She closes the door. “You’re dripping. I’ll mix up some lemonade.” He’s in his best gray slacks and the short-sleeved white shirt he concedes to at the pulpit on sweltering days instead of his robe. Sweat glazes his forehead.

  “Water’s enough. I’ll get it.” He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, wipes his face. “Feels good in here. Is the air conditioner always this noisy?”

  “Yeah. Lenny says it’s a defect in the model. In other words, put up with it.”

  “It’s brutal out there. Thought I might find you at the pool.” His voice sounds tired. He pulls a glass from the cupboard, runs the tap.

  “Every night after work is enough for me. Tavis has turned into a water rat.”

  He glances over at the card table, spread with papers. “Am I taking you away from something important?”

  “Not too. Trying to get a jump on tomorrow. Studying a report from the psychologist we hired, the one I told you about.”

  He nods. “Important enough. How’s he working out?”

  “He’s interviewed twelve women so far and says they lack ambition. He seems to have decided that based on a single question about goals. They gave answers like wanting to raise healthy, well-adjusted children. One woman said she wants to be appreciated for herself, not as part of a patronage system that passes on power and privilege. Ha! That must have floored him. He was expecting them to say something like I want to be president of the company before I’m forty but he didn’t ask what business goals they had. Know what that says to me?”

  “No.”

  “That he assumes the only valid goals are related to how we make a living. We should’ve hired the woman I recommended but Mr. B related to this guy better.” She catches herself. “I’m rattling on. You came to talk about something else.”

  His mouth seems to search for words, settles on, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  There’s hesitation in his face, something like caution. “Somebody saw you at a hospital in St. Paul on the OB-GYN floor.”

  Her laugh is surprised at itself. “Who?”

  “Somebody Mom knows.”

  “Sorry to sound like an owl but who?”

  “I don’t know her name.”

  Could Grace be friendly with the woman Lin spotted in the hospital parking lot, the one who hasn’t been on the bus since then? Could that woman have come onto the OB-GYN floor without Lin noticing? Prickling with unease, she pours herself a glass of water, takes it into the living room. “When did this mystery woman see me?”

  Ron follows. “Not sure. Were you there recently?”

  “A week ago.” She sets her glass on the coffee table, touches his arm. “What is it? You look like you’re gonna cry.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t have an abortion.”

  He might as well have punched her. She sits down hard on the couch, checks his face to see if he’s joking. “Of course not.” His vasectomy was five years ago.

  “Thank Jesus.”

  She’s dizzy, closes her eyes for a moment. “How on earth could you think that?”

  “You’ve been so…romantic lately. I always thought you didn’t like it. Then a few months ago, boom, all of a sudden you’re hot to trot.”

  Hot to trot? She’d laugh if she weren’t so shaken. “You thought I might have gotten pregnant with somebody else?” She’s amazed at herself for saying the words so calmly.

  The air conditioner shudders, shifts into high whine gear.

  “No. Maybe. It did occur to me the vasectomy might’ve somehow reversed itself.”

  “And if it had, you thought I’d abort our baby?”

  “I didn’t want to think that. It’s just that I panicked when Mom said you’d been seen at that hospital. The Right to Life Committee has their eyes on a doctor that practices there. She’s done abortions for years, even when they were illegal. Logs them as D&Cs.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “She told me just today, after church. I came here straight after. Why were you there? Are you having female problems?”

  “No. A friend needed a ride.”

  He frowns. “Did she have an abortion?”

  “Why she was there is confidential.”

  “Because if she did, it would’ve been better for someone else to take her. You know I’m working on the repeal campaign. I can’t have my wife driving women to abortions.”

  She can hardly breathe, needs to move. “Is Grace at the parsonage?”

  “As far as I know. Why?”

  She steps to the phone on the wall beside the kitchen and dials. Ron reaches her in three great strides. Grace answers. “She doesn’t know I’m here,” he whispers.

  Grace says, “Is that Ronnie? Everything okay?”

  “That depends,” Lin says. “This woman you told him about, the one who saw me at the hospital. What’s her name?”

  Ron shakes his head.

  Grace pauses. Lin feels as if she’s in a train passing through a dark tunnel until Grace says, “Eunice Waters.”

  “Not a name I recognize. How does she know me?”

  “We should talk about this face-to-face.”

  “I don’t see why we can’t talk about it now. What does she look like?”

  “I’m going to hang up, Lin. We’ll discuss it next time you’re here.”

  There won’t be a next time. The realization rocks her. She listens to the dial tone for a moment, trembling with outrage, hangs up the phone and turns to Ron. “I think Grace has had me followed. Please tell me I’m wrong.”

  He lowers his head, walks to the sliding glass door like a man on ice, pushes aside the curtains she closed against the heat and stands precariously.
“You’re not wrong.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  He speaks to the window. “That was the only way we could let you go. It was for your safety, your wellbeing.”

  A new anger sweeps over her. “We?” She leaves the kitchen, stands behind him. “This was your idea, too?”

  He turns, his face arranged in the patient expression of an understanding friend. “You’d lost so much weight. You were emotionally delicate. You’d never been on your own and Minneapolis isn’t Prairie Fire. You have no instinct for danger. Mom knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I worried about you.”

  “How much did it cost?”

  “I don’t know. She paid.”

  “So she bought you peace of mind. From me. What a generous woman.” Her nose and throat burn with unshed tears. “If it was for my benefit, why didn’t you tell me? You know, hey Lin, don’t get creeped out if it feels like somebody’s stalking you. We’re making sure you don’t pass out from hunger or blow away in a stiff breeze.” She’s queasy, sits on the edge of the couch.

  “No need to be caustic. You would’ve accused me of hovering.”

  “Caustic?” Her joyless laugh comes out hard. Her stomach is roiling and something nasty is clotting in her throat.

  “Look, I won’t apologize for protecting my family.”

  “Oh, no, by all means don’t apologize. Just get the hell out of here.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. Now! Let yourself out. I have to throw up.”

  He’s gone when she comes out of the bathroom. Her head swims from a sudden drain of adrenaline and she turns back to heave into the toilet’s abyss again. She passes the night on Tavis’s bed, body rigid, eyes open, her mind hostage to thoughts of the sunny plans they’d made. Naïve, stupid dreams that embarrass her now.

  In the morning she wonders if it was all a dream, recalls being sick with rage, feels empty now, like something violated and left out in the cold to die. She rides the bus to work in a daze. Sits at her desk staring at the philodendron, unable to focus.

  Ron shows up unshaven in LP’s lobby shortly before noon. The receptionist summons her down. She goes in case it’s about Tavis but he’s fine. Ron dropped him off at daycare. He holds up two brown paper bags. “Buy you lunch?”

  His rueful expression tells her yesterday happened. “Not a good idea right now,” she says.

  “We can’t let this fester,” he says. “Please.”

  She hates his pleading eyes, would rather be anywhere else right now. But she slowly nods. Best get it over with.

  They walk to the IDS center, sit on a bench, the Crystal Court’s glass sky vaulting over them, sunlight raining down. She edges away from him, opens her lunch bag. “You make this?”

  “No, Mom did. Egg salad. Your favorite, right?”

  She hands the bag back to him. She’s done with kindness.

  He sighs heavily, sets her bag and his, unopened, beside him on the bench. “I had a rough night. How about you?”

  She’s wooly-headed from lack of sleep but why tell him? She peers around to see if anyone can overhear, speaks low. “I’ve spent nearly a year assuming the worst that could happen to me was to lose Tavis. I didn’t imagine losing your trust would feel as painful.”

  “You haven’t lost my trust.”

  “Having me followed as if I were a criminal? Of course I have. And you’ve lost mine. Without that, what do we have?”

  “Sweetheart, we have Tavis and a shared ambition to be good and kind and giving.” His voice is savage with hope.

  Three chattering women pass in front of them. She waits. “I thank you for Tavis, I really do. No matter what, I’ll always be grateful.”

  He shakes his head as if to stop her words from taking root. “That sounds like a kiss-off.”

  She doesn’t respond, stares at people floating down the escalators. She’d like to take one going the other way, clear up to the edge of the universe.

  “I make one mistake out of love for you,” he says, “and you want to give up on us?”

  She turns to him in amazement. “But you don’t consider it a mistake. You believe you had every right to have me followed.”

  He thrusts himself forward, arms on his thighs and closes his eyes. “Heavenly Father, we come before you today with heavy hearts. Our marriage is in trouble and we need your help. Show us the way back to love. Protect our son from pain and sorrow. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  That might have moved her once.

  He lifts wet eyes to her. “It’ll be better when we’re together as a family again. This has been a terrible strain on all of us.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t live with you.”

  He rams a fist into his hand, its sudden sound reverberating in the airy court.

  She glances around. A woman on a nearby bench doesn’t look up from her book. A man and woman continue their conversation a few feet away. She and Ron can’t be invisible. They’re casting shadows on the bench and the floor beneath their feet.

  His mouth works fiercely. “Where’s your compassion for Tavis? He’s counting on us being together again.”

  As if she doesn’t consider Tavis every moment. “How dare you make this my fault?”

  He glares at her. “Do you ever consider anyone but yourself? For a year I’ve endured the whispers behind my back, the scandal of a man of God not being able to keep his wife at home. Cora says I’m a saint. Mom says she doesn’t know how I do it.” He stands and paces before her, leans in and spits out, “I just changed churches for you. And you want to shame me again?”

  She slumps on the bench. She’s tired, so very tired. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”

  He drops his head. “So, where do we go from here?” His voice seems far away, part of another time and place.

  She stands. “I’m going back to work. Don’t come after me.”

  He phones that night, says, “Maybe if we give it some time.”

  “You suppose that at some point it won’t matter anymore and we can go on?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, I don’t. We have such a tiny history together in this life when you think of it.”

  “Lin, please, for the love of God. We all need mercy.”

  His words stir up the dust of a day eight years ago, that same husky, vulnerable voice asking, “Who will stand with me?”

  “Goodnight, Ron,” she whispers then hangs up.

  She’s afraid to look in the mirror that night. Afraid to find her eyes devoid of compassion.

  Sat, Aug 11/73

  Everything makes me want to scream tonight. The tag on my nightgown, the skin between my fingers, somebody laughing in the hallway, the damned air conditioner. My hair itches, my teeth throb and my whole body aches. I’ve agreed to go back to Gabe next week on the condition we discuss what we were supposed to. I should never have let it get beyond that.

  Psychologist Gabe Lindberg is a large man, as blond as the desk he’s behind and the two hard-backed chairs Lin and Ron occupy across from him. He smiles, leans back in his leather swivel chair, making it complain. “So what can I do you for?” She isn’t keen about the power dynamics their relative positions imply, regrets grasping like a drowning woman at her doctor’s first recommendation for a family therapist. She answers before Ron can, says they need help telling their five-year-old they won’t be living together as a family again.

  “You’ve filed for divorce then?” Gabe’s eyes are small and close together.

  “No,” Lin says. The air is hot and lethargic, the room no bigger than a walk-in closet.

  “Certainly not,” Ron says. They agree on that, at least.

  “A legal separation?”

  They say “No” in unison.

  “Why not?”

  “He’s a minister. It wou
ldn’t be right.” Is he an idiot?

  “I know divorced clergy,” Gabe says. “It’s not unheard of these days.”

  “Are you advising us to get divorced?” Ron asks.

  She’s just as incredulous.

  “Not at all. Just wondering what sort of marriage you envision, living apart.”

  “Just so we’re clear, I do not want to live apart from my wife. And the only reason I’m here is because she asked me to be.”

  “Why don’t you want to live with your husband, Lin?”

  She sighs heavily. “We’ve had separate homes for nearly a year—”

  Gabe interrupts. “Why was that?”

  “I needed to work out a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ll tell you later if it seems important.”

  Gabe smiles. “All right, I’ll hold you to that.”

  “We were supposed to get back together after the year was over. Four weeks from now. Then I learned he and his mother had hired detectives to follow me.” She could double over in pain this very minute thinking of how she’d loved Grace more than her own mother.

  Gabe lifts his eyebrows at Ron. “That so?”

  Ron shrugs as though there still might be some doubt.

  She shifts in her chair, its hard surface almost bruising her bones. “Before that, I found out he’d snuck into my apartment while I was at work and read my journal. I managed to move past that but having me followed was just too much.”

  Gabe sits straighter. “Why’d you read her journal, Ron, have her followed?”

  Ron says, “I’ll tell you later if it seems important.”

  She bristles. “Very funny.”

  Gabe says, “Seems important to me. Seems like why Lin doesn’t want to live with you.”

  “I’ve given her my reasons.”