What We All Want

by Michelle Berry

  “Maybe we should just clean the whole house. Do the dishes. Start from there.”

  “I just haven’t had the energy lately,” Hilary sighs. She gets up from the couch and walks carefully out into the kitchen. She starts to run the water in the sink. “I’ll need dish soap if I’m going to do the dishes,” she says. “You’ll have to go shopping.”

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “No. I’ll make you a list.”

  “I should buy you some cream for your face. Your face is chapped from the weather outside or from the heat off the furnace. There’s nothing there that can’t be cured with some cream.”

  While Thomas showers and shaves Hilary thinks about what Thomas said, that everyone has their fears. Somehow that lifts her spirits a little, makes her feel lighter. Everyone is afraid of something, aren’t they? She imagines that even purely evil people must be afraid—of the law? Of good? But it worries her that Thomas can’t see the stain on her face. Even he can’t see it.

  With her hands in warm water her mind wanders. She thinks about the cemeteries that she has to choose from. Sage Hill. That’s a good one. Bushes everywhere. But Mother didn’t like bushes. She said they looked like permanent tumbleweeds. She said they stayed too fresh in winter, gave a false appearance to the dead scene around them. She liked trees, though. Maple and oak and magnolia. But not evergreens. Same as the bushes, they stayed too green and healthy-looking through the worst storms. Mother liked plants to show weathering, a passage of time. She liked to know that some-thing alive had managed to live through the worst situation.

  Winter is coming on strong this year, Hilary thinks. Soon it will be Christmas. Soon the snow will come.

  After his shower Thomas calls Jonathan from the upstairs hall telephone. He pulls the phone cord into the linen closet for privacy and then sees the shelves crammed with preserves. He gags at the sight, mottled green and red and yellow jars, things floating within, like some sort of bizarre laboratory, and he moves back into the hall and whispers into the mouthpiece.

  “Jonathan, hello.”

  “Thomas. How are things?”

  “All right,” says Thomas “Sorry I didn’t call last night. I was exhausted.”

  “How was the flight?You survived, obviously.”

  “It was pure hell. I might just stay here forever.” Thomas smiles to himself. “Actually, I don’t know which is worse, flying or staying here.”

  Thomas can hear Jonathan moving. He is carrying the cordless telephone and he is moving about their home.

  “You should see this place. Hilary collects things.”

  “Collects what?”

  “As far as I can tell, dolls, rocks, and preserves. There are also shelves in the basement full of canned food and toilet paper. As if she thinks the world will end soon and she’s stocking up.”

  “Rocks? How do you collect rocks?”

  “She’s laid them out on the living room floor. Hundreds of them. You have to walk over them to watch TV.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and the kitchen is unbelievable. Dirty dishes everywhere. I’ve actually got her scrubbing them right now.”

  Jonathan laughs. “Doesn’t she have a dishwasher?”

  “We can’t decide where to bury Becka,” Thomas says. “No one can agree on a spot. And Hilary doesn’t want to sell the house.” Jonathan laughs again.

  “Death is funny to you?”

  “No, sorry.”

  Thomas rubs his chin. He needs something to eat. His stomach hurts from hunger. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” Thomas says. There is a pause in the conversation.

  “Are you sure I can’t come? I’ll hop on a plane today. We’ve been together for fifteen years, Thomas. It’s about time they know.”

  “I haven’t seen them in a long time. Why should I bring it up now. What purpose will it serve?”

  “Jesus, Thomas.”

  “Just don’t come here, okay?”

  “Whatever.”

  “I just wanted to say hello. Tell you I miss you.”

  “Whatever,” Jonathan says again. “I’ll see you in a week, I guess.”

  “Yes, a week.”

  Thomas hangs up the phone. He walks down the hall towards his mother’s room. It’s the one room he hasn’t been in since he’s been home.

  “She’s dead,” he says to himself. When he opens his mother’s bedroom door Thomas feels his heart beat rapidly. He thinks he sees movement out of the corner of his eye, but it’s just the curtain billowing in the breeze from the window which is open a crack to air out the room. “Christ,” he says. Her bed is a mass of pillows and comforter. It looks for a second as if there is a body there. He remembers when his father left and how his mother stayed in bed for months. He was the oldest child and had to suddenly take care of everyone. And Hilary began to play the mother. She began to try cooking. She would do the dishes and wash the clothes. How did she know what to do? He remembers creeping up to Becka’s bed to ask her for grocery money, to ask her to get out of bed and take care of them. He would plead and beg. And she would lie there with her eyes open, staring at nothing, seeing nothing.

  And then he looks up at the whiteness of his mother’s room, at the shine and gleam of everything, the polished wood, the mirrors glowing, the cold sun shining through the clean windows, and it strikes him, suddenly, how different this room is from the rest of the house. So clean and bright and airy. Almost holy. Like a shrine, a temple. Everything is sparkling. And then Thomas thinks that if Becka was one thing in her life, it was well loved. Well loved and doted on by her daughter. Hilary would have gone to the ends of the earth to make sure nothing harmed Becka. Thomas is sure of that.

  4. Coming Together

  Billy and Tess eat lunch at the sandwich store across from the strip plaza. They’ve just been to the grocery store to stock up on food, and the liquor store for beer and wine. You never know if Thomas might come by to eat, Tess had said, standing in her well-stocked kitchen, looking into her overflowing fridge. She’d need more groceries if she was going to feed all the Mounts in one sitting, wouldn’t she? And so they wheeled the cart up and down the aisle of the grocery store and filled it full of party food. Pretzels, sausage rolls, olives, four kinds of cheese, popcorn, soda pop, Twizzlers, jujubes, and jelly beans —bulging large plastic bags in the back of their Oldsmobile.

  “There might also be mourners,” Tess says, sitting spread-out in the booth of the sandwich store. She often feels she has to justify her binge-spending at the grocery store. Billy complains but his voice is just a whine behind her left ear. She really has to justify it to herself. Tess always feels guilty when there is too much food in the house, but she also feels empty and horribly depressed when the cupboards are even the smallest bit bare, when she can see a gaping space in the freezer, a black hole, ready to suck her in. There’s no fine line between the two and so justifying spending is easier to Tess than feeling depressed. Because when Tess is depressed she worries that she might stop eating and a life without food is a life not worth living.

  “Becka had no friends,” Billy says. “There will be no mourners.”

  “You don’t know that,” Tess says, taking a bite of her Meaty Man sandwich, her mouth leaking lettuce. “She might have had a secret boyfriend.”

  “Tess!”

  “We don’t know who she might have known, what she might have been doing.”

  “I lived there for nineteen years, Tess. I know exactly what she did every day.”

  “Did she drink in the middle of the night?”

  “Of course she didn’t, Tess, you know that.” And then Billy realizes where Tess is leading. “I just had a couple of beers last night. I couldn’t sleep. Hilary’s house was such a mess, dolls everywhere. And then seeing Thomas again. He looks so much older.”

  “We all age, Billy. But we’ll age faster drinking ourselves to sleep.” Tess sucks mustard off her finger. “Does she still have those rocks on the living room floor?”
<
br />   Billy nods. “And Dick Mortimer. Did I tell you we saw him? He runs the funeral home now.”

  “Little Dick Mortimer? The fat kid?”

  “He’s tall now.”

  “Still fat?” Tess looks down at her stomach.

  “Not really fat. Just big.”

  Tess takes another bite of her sandwich. A little mustard catches on her lip, and as she licks at it another bit of lettuce falls from her mouth. She holds her napkin up to catch the spill. “That’s the way it is with men,” she says. “They’re just big. Women are fat.”

  Billy watches his wife and for an instant he remembers how absolutely attractive he used to find her. The most beautiful woman in the world sitting there now with that mustard on her lip. Her large size used to be a comfort to him, something he relished, all that flesh to hold on to. But now he thinks she’s just fat. And she seems to be getting fatter every day. No matter what she says, she’s fatter than Dick Mortimer by a mile.

  “When will they need you back at the photo shop?”

  “After Christmas,” Billy lies, looking down at his plate. He twirls a french fry around in ketchup. “They’re just slow right now.”

  “I can’t believe they’re slow before Christmas?”

  Billy says, “The economy is bad this year.” He wonders again how he is going to make this work, how he’s going to keep the lie going.

  “And your security job too? What are you going to do until after Christmas? You’re going to drive me crazy around the house.”

  Billy thinks about his daughter and her upcoming baby. “Our baby is having a baby,” he says to his plate. He thinks about the cost of diapers, of having another mouth to feed.

  Tess sighs. She looks at the clock on the sandwich-store wall. Sue will give birth in May and Tess will need all the energy she can muster to look after two children. She wonders if she should order another sandwich. She picks a fry off Billy’s plate. “Everything will be fine,” Tess says. “You’ll see. Sue will go back to high school and we’ll watch the baby. Everything will be fine.”

  “I don’t know,” Billy says. “It’s hard to know anything any more.”

  “Don’t be so down, Billy. Chin up. The sun is shining.”

  Tess motions out the window of the store and into the parking lot where, indeed, at that exact moment, a ray of sunlight lights up their car. The wind whips an empty bag around the parking lot until the bag catches on the tire of their car and flaps noiselessly. Tess takes that as an omen but she doesn’t know what it’s telling her.

  “You weren’t there last night, Tess. It seems like everything is getting worse I think we’re going to have to fight Hilary over selling the house.”

  “How can things get any worse, Billy? Your mother is dead. What’s worse than death?”

  Billy shrugs. Living, he wants to say. Sometimes living is far worse than death.

  “Although you never really saw her, did you, Billy? Maybe that’s worse than death. Not saying goodbye to your mother.” Tess pulls herself out of the booth and carries the tray over to the garbage. She dumps in the paper cups and sandwich wrappers. She wipes off her large shirt. “Do you have to pee, Billy? Because you’d better go now before we get in the car.”

  Billy looks into the eyes of the other diners.

  They drive over to Becka’s house to see Thomas and Hilary. Up the chipped front steps, onto the porch, they walk right in. The front door is not locked.

  The house is quiet. It occurs to Billy that he’s been back to his childhood home twice in less than twenty-four hours. Death can change your whole life around, he thinks. Billy looks at the kitchen table. He thinks about the times he would come home from school and see his mother sitting there, her elbows on the table. Sometimes she wouldn’t raise her head or say anything. The silence was deafening. She sat there quietly, as if collecting her thoughts, as if preparing to give a speech. When he was very young, Billy would rush up and kiss her cheek and she would make sounds comparable to a mother bird, cooings and twitchings and hummings. Making all the right movements. “Did you have a nice day at school?” she would ask. “Would you like a cookie and milk?” But there was nothing behind her eyes, a shadow had fallen over the brightness when his father walked out of the house. Damn him, Billy thinks.

  In his bedroom Billy remembers that he would make sounds in his head, screams and hisses and bangs and hollers. All in his mind.

  He would close his eyes, squinch his mouth and eyebrows, tighten his hands into fists. Drown out the silence, the sadness of his mother.

  And now Thomas is across the country with his own successful architecture firm, and Hilary is all alone and half-cracked, and Billy craves just one more beer, maybe a couple. He makes his way to the fridge and pulls one out. It opens with a fizz. He’s glad there were some left over from last night.

  “Drinking already?” Tess says. “God, this place is a mess. We’ll need to give it a good cleaning.” Tess sighs. She pulls a candy bar from her purse. She runs her fingers over the kitchen counter, picking at the dried-on food spills. Then she washes her hands in the sink full of dishes. “These dolls give me the creeps.”

  “Eating already?” Billy says, indicating the chocolate bar in her mouth.

  “Billy!”

  Tess walks to the cupboard for a glass. Her legs rub together, making a slight swishing noise. The cupboard is empty so she washes a dirty glass in the sink. “At least drink out of this,” she says. “It looks awful when you drink from a bottle.”

  “Where are they?” Billy pours the beer into the glass and sips at the foam.

  They listen for Hilary and Thomas. Tess walks into the living room and looks at the rocks. She says, “Why can’t I have a normal sister-in-law?” Billy is behind her. “You know the kind. Coffees together, talking about our kids and husbands. Bonding. Trading clothes.” She shakes her head back and forth. The chocolate-bar crumbs fall in pieces on her large breasts. She wipes them onto the rocks below

  Billy laughs. “Trading clothes?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “They left the front door unlocked,” Billy says. “They must be here.”

  Tess turns towards Billy and runs her fingers over his arm straight down to the glass of beer he is holding. “Honey,” she says, “you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Something’s wrong.You’re drinking. You know —”

  “Not here, Tess. Let’s talk about this later.”

  “It’s just that since Sue got pregnant we haven’t … you know.” “Tess, for God’s sake.” Billy drinks his beer quickly.

  “We haven’t had sex.”

  “I know that,” Billy whispers. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “Is there something wrong?”

  “No, I . . .” But Billy doesn’t know what to say. “Why are we talking about this here? Why now?”

  “Is it my size?” Tess smoothes her shirt down on her large belly. She blushes. She knows she is getting larger, it’s just that with Sue pregnant and Billy so distant lately she’s found such comfort in food. Besides, Tess thinks that some meat looks good on her, makes her look strong. Makes her face tight. She picks up one of Hilary’s dolls which is lying on the rocks, naked. Tess smoothes her hands over the doll’s hair. A dress is lying on the couch. Tess creeps over the rocks, surprisingly light on her feet. She tries to put the dress back on the doll. A blue satin one with a large bow in the back and a white lace collar. So pretty. But Tess’s fingers are clumsy and big and she can’t do up the buttons. She wonders how she’ll dress Sue’s baby.

  “No, it’s not your weight.” But she’s right. Her weight is bothering him. And ever since Sue got pregnant he can’t bear to think about sex with Tess. It’s nonsense, he knows, but if he stays away from the mother, then maybe the daughter won’t really be pregnant. Maybe it’s all just a big nightmare. He can’t explain it to himself, let alone te
ll Tess what’s wrong. The thought of being a grandfather makes him feel one step closer to the grave. It makes him feel old and weak and out of control. He goes into the kitchen and opens another beer. “Hilary, Thomas,” he calls out, startling Tess who drops the doll.

  “We’re down here,” Hilary suddenly calls up from the basement. “Come down the stairs.”

  Billy places his glass of beer on the counter. He opens the door to the basement. Tess follows.

  “My, I didn’t realize these stairs were so steep,” Tess says as she holds on to Billy’s arm and manoeuvres her bulk down. She puffs and pants. All movement is an exertion for her. All action is exercise. She belches up the taste of her Meaty Man sandwich. Onions and mustard. “Slow down, honey. Just slow down.”

  Tess and Billy make their way through some large boxes and shelves of preserves towards Thomas and Hilary who are standing by the furnace which is chugging loudly. Hilary is holding a sock up to her mouth.

  “What are you doing down here?” Tess pants. Her eyes adjust to the dim light. “What’s going on? What’s that over your mouth?”

  “Hello, Tess,” Thomas says.

  “A sock,” Hilary says, her voice muffled. “There’s mould everywhere.”

  Thomas bends to receive his kiss from the fat woman. She is panting and sweating.

  “Hey, Thomas,” Billy says, looking around. “I’ve been thinking. Why didn’t you bring your girlfriend? What’s her name again?” “Girlfriend?”

  “Marianne? Wasn’t that it? Wasn’t that her name, Tess?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Tess says. “Ask Thomas. Why is there a sock in front of your mouth, Hilary?” Tess is trying to steady her breathing. She thinks about the bag under their car’s tires flapping in the breeze, the moment of sunlight on her car, Billy not sleeping with her, Hilary’s mouth covered with a sock.

  “We broke up,” Thomas says. “A long time ago. Listen, we’re trying to decide where to bury Becka.You should be in on this.”

  “I’m sure it was Marianne,” Billy says.

  “There,” Hilary says and points to black marks on the walls near the floor. “Mould. Everywhere. Asthma.”