- •I thought for a moment. “I don’t know. If I did, I don’t remember.”
- •I looked out at the Japanese maple. “Nice weather we’re having.”
- •I covered the receiver with my hand and repeated this to Abby.
- •Chapter Two
- •I leaned against the back door. Jane often had an interesting tale to tell, and, thanks to the volume of her voice, it was easy to eavesdrop on her phone calls. Only the odd word or two escaped me.
- •I looked at my mother, who looked pointedly at Karen’s hair.
- •I couldn’t blame Hunter or his drinking for the accident, though both had an effect on the aftermath. If he’d been sober, I’d still be called Frankie.
- •I let him carry on the rest of the way without comment. It felt like my eye had been whacked with a hammer.
- •I watched Marilyn change the IV bag and punch buttons on the various machines.
- •I closed my eyes and tried to think of something clever to say about Oedipus. Nothing came to mind. I checked the window again.
- •I shrugged. “He came stumbling in around midnight and started bugging me. When I told him to leave me alone, he grabbed me from behind, wrapped his arms around my chest, and started squeezing.”
- •I made a wry face. “Oh? And what about your boyfriend, Brad? I assume he’s the reason you’re getting dressed and putting on makeup.”
- •I watched the shaft of moonlight until I fell asleep, sometime after midnight. I dreamed about field corn, and Abby, and my name.
- •I remained where I was. Unless she got up to pinch me—and she’d been known to—I didn’t bother to correct myself.
- •I looked at my mother. “I wish they made seatbelts for mouths,” I said.
- •I should have gone straight over to Susan’s house.
- •I pulled up a chair and sat down next to Nana.
- •I blew the flame out. “Do you want me to let the dog go? I’d be more than happy to let him bite your hand off.”
- •I said, “Louise called, Abby. She said Belvedere’s doing fine. The Rimadyl is already working wonders.”
- •I closed my eyes and pressed my lips against her ear. “I don’t know what to do,” I said softly, not sure I wanted her to hear me.
- •I held her hand for a moment, savoring the sensation. Then I let it go.
- •I chewed the last of my Portobello. Susan ordered dessert, a crème brûlée.
- •I caught my mother’s eye. It was choke, not laugh.
- •I felt myself tensing up. I took a deep breath, willing my muscles to relax. “The guys you’ve dated. Did you do this with any of them?”
- •I laughed. “I’m not early. You’re late. Please note, however, that I didn’t blow the horn. I didn’t even get out and knock.”
- •I pulled the waistband of my underwear down and considered my reflection in the bathroom’s full-length mirror. My hysterectomy scar was still angry and red.
- •I buckled my belt and walked through the door Abby held open for me.
- •I laughed. “It sneaks up on you. Abby and I were watching vh1 the other night. They had some nostalgia show on, and what it was nostalgic for was the eighties.”
- •I hesitated. “I’m afraid she’ll fall into the wrong hands. I caught Jake holding her under the pond with a stick.”
- •I shook my head emphatically. “No way. She’ll have gravy,” I said to the woman with the hairnet, “and so will I.”
- •I nodded, taking a bite of dill pickle. “Yes. People had extra-marital affairs in 1923, just like they do now.”
- •I waited. Whatever I said, I didn’t want to sound shocked. The problem was that I was shocked.
- •I pushed away the plate of half-eaten roast beef and covered it with my napkin.
- •I opened my mouth to say, “What do you mean,” but I knew what she meant.
- •I laughed. “a kind of Stray Cats meets the Talking Heads sort of thing?”
- •I was beginning to feel the effects of a heavy dinner and a good deal of wine, and even though it meant the risk of falling asleep mid-sentence, I wanted to be more comfortable.
- •I refused to meet him at the Brentwood, suggesting instead that we meet for dinner at a Chinese restaurant called the Hang Chow. I told him that my mother and Nana would be coming with me.
- •I stood up. “Hi, Shirley. Please, have a seat.”
- •I nodded. “College. I want to be a professor.”
- •I propped my feet up on the glass-topped coffee table and picked a book from my mother’s library pile. It was Rubyfruit Jungle by Rita Mae Brown. I’d never heard of it.
- •I nodded happily. “I have my mother’s chariot for the evening. It’s at your disposal.”
- •I stepped into the weird hospital elevator with its facing doors and pressed the button for the fourth floor.
- •I made a whooshing sound.
- •I stood there, dumbstruck. Condensation from the glass in my hand dripped down my arm. Jean finished her drink and poured another.
- •I laughed. “You and me both. Tell me, before you left for Yugoslavia, were you seeing anyone?”
- •I nodded dumbly. Susan stepped back. Had I been blind? There had always been someone. I relied on her, I couldn’t live without her, I loved her.
- •I took the doll from her and put it back on the dresser. Across the hall, the bathroom door opened. My mother stood there, holding a curling iron.
- •I picked up a Life magazine and sat next to Abby on the bed. “Can I offer you some reading material? This is all about Jackie Kennedy.”
- •In the personnel office, Edna spoke to a gray-haired woman in gold-rimmed glasses who, according to her nameplate, was Marcella Rockway.
- •I nodded. Abby bristled, and I saw Edna put a hand on her arm.
- •I stared at her in amazement. Nana could be stubborn, but I’d never known her to stand up to my grandfather so firmly that he backed down.
- •I opened my mouth to say I didn’t care what it cost. Abby put her hand on my leg again. She shook her head slightly.
- •I said, “How can you just sit there like you’re attending a second grade piano recital? You’re polite, but you’re bored. You’re waiting for it all to be over.”
- •I sat up. I didn’t want to look at her, and I didn’t want to cry, so I closed my eyes.
- •I took her by the hands and helped her to her feet. “Thanks for the warning, but I’ve made my decision. It’s you, me, and Rosalyn. I just hope she doesn’t hog the covers.”
- •I glanced at the illuminated dial of my watch. “I don’t care about the speeding ticket. Put your foot down.”
- •I hung up the phone. “I’ll just bet,” I said, putting my credit card back into my wallet. Abby came out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped around her body.
- •Vivian laughed. “What’s your favorite color, Poppy?”
I looked out at the Japanese maple. “Nice weather we’re having.”
“Water and walking, that’s the cure—or an enema.”
“If you don’t mind,” I said firmly, “I thought I’d order a pizza tonight. Pepperoni with extra cheese. I may need some help with that. I can’t remember where I put my checkbook. I also seem to have trouble holding a pen. Do you think I’m losing my fine motor skills?”
“No,” Abby said. “I think you should lay off the damned painkillers and, while you’re at it, you might stop laying women in uniform. Your checkbook’s in your left-hand desk drawer. No, stay where you are, all hopped up and comfortable. I’ll let the dog in. I’ll get your checkbook. I’ll even call the goddamn pizza parlor. Just pepperoni?”
“And extra cheese. And maybe onions.”
“No onions. They give you heartburn.”
“Fine.” I shifted in my seat and felt an unpleasant pulling sensation. “I might be hopped up, but I’m not comfortable. I can’t sit up straight. I think that fucking doctor has sewn the top of my vagina to the bottom of my lungs.”
“I wish she’d sewn it shut. Is Old Chicago okay with you? They do the best deep dish.”
“I prefer thin crust.”
“Too bad,” she said. “I like deep.”
“I’m paying.”
“I’m ordering.”
When Abby sat back down, Belvedere climbed onto her lap, his head and tail hanging over the arms of the chair. They both closed their eyes. Gingerly, I lifted first one leg and then the other up onto the sofa and settled a cushion behind my head and shoulders. I’d just eased onto my back when the phone rang.
“You want me to get that?” Abby asked, her eyes still shut.
“No.”
“What if it’s Crazy Cop?”
“I’ll tell her you said hello.” I picked up the phone.
“Poppy, is that you?” My grandmother’s voice crackled across three thousand miles.
“It’s me. Hi, Nana.”
“It doesn’t sound like you. You’re all out of breath. Why are you up? You said you were going to have someone there to take care of you. I told your mama we should fly out there and make sure you don’t—”
“I do have someone with me. Abby’s here.”
“Abby.” My grandmother hesitated. “Abby. Do I know . . . ?”
“Abby Johnson,” I said wearily. “We went to high school together, and college. She moved with me to Portland five years ago. It was a four-day trip by U-Haul, and her dog kept throwing up in my lap. Nana, you’ve known Abby for twenty years, since she and I were thirteen years old.”
“Oh, your black friend,” said Abby.
“Oh, your black friend,” said my grandmother.
“Yes,” I said simply. “How are you, Nana? And how’s Mama?”
“We’re just fine,” she said. “I went to Asheville last weekend with my Sunday School class, and we went to the Biltmore House. Twohundred-and-fifty rooms and sixty-five fireplaces, can you imagine? I like the gardens best of all. Someone famous designed them.”
“Frederick Law Olmsted,” I said.
“I can’t remember who,” my grandmother continued without a pause. “They charge an absolute fortune to get in. My ticket was thirty-six dollars. I tried to get your mama to come, but she said she’d rather stay home and watch some old movie she’s seen a hundred times.”
“Oh? What movie was that?”
“Fiddler on a Hot Tin Roof.”