Chapter 26
On a rainy day in April, I went out to get the mail and found, along with a bill and a few advertisements, an envelope with my name and address handwritten on it.
The envelope had no return address, but when I saw NYC on the postmark, I guessed it was from Carol.
I actually rolled my eyes, so put-upon did I feel.
But I’d only told her she shouldn’t call again. I’d never said she couldn’t write.
Inside was a sheet of office paper with the following quote, typed:
“…you really must try hard to keep your melancholy within bounds and see that it does not last too long. Life is precious and such moods as the one you are in consume us body and soul. Do not imagine that life has little more in store for you. It is not true…”
Beneath the quote was Love, Carol, also typed.
That was it, the whole letter, but it made me mad enough to ball up the paper and throw it in the garbage, then turn around and slap the refrigerator.
She had no right to tell me to keep my sadness in check.
Maybe life felt precious to her, living with her child, knowing she hadn’t failed him.
I stood there in the kitchen, my palm stinging.
I got the letter out of the trash, unballed it, and read it again.
The words stayed in my head for the rest of the day, and for some time after.
Especially the last two sentences, as I’d very much been imagining that life had little more in store for me.
And I think I knew, even then, that extraordinary luck had landed me in the same maternity home as Carol DeWitt.
Because it’s extraordinary luck, in any circumstance, to make a friend who doesn’t just distract you, or get you to laugh in hard times, but who also cares about you enough to hold out a hand to help you out of your muck, even when you don’t deserve it.
It turns out that quote she sent to me was from Brahms. I guess he wrote more than just music.
The words Carol sent to me were from a letter he’d written to Clara Schumann after her husband had been dead for a year, which was about a hundred years before Carol decided I also needed to hear them.
I remembered her talking about Brahms, about his intermezzi that she liked so much, and how she thought I’d like his earthy and jaunty pieces.
But I didn’t know that quote was from him until later, when Carol and I spoke again.
—
In May, Bobby graduated from high school.
Russ drove me into town for the ceremony, and in the family pictures taken on that day, I’m standing next to Russ with his arm around me, and I’m smiling, my hair grown down past my ears.
Bobby remained cool to me that day, even though I got him a card and told him how proud of him I was, and Russ gave him an envelope with twenty dollars in it.
The following week, Bobby left for the Naval Training Center in Maryland.
I bought another copy of the Marcus Aurelius book and gave it to him as a going-away present.
Hurt as I was, I was glad he was leaving. I told myself that, at least.
The rest of my family remained in St. Pete, and they always seemed pleased to see us. Janet turned twelve that June, and my father suggested Russ and I arrive early for her birthday dinner so he and his favorite son-in-law, ha ha, could listen to a ball game while I helped Mae with the food.
Russ agreed to this plan, even though we had a nicer television at our house, where he could have watched the game in greater comfort, as we had two air-conditioning units, and Mae and my father had just the one.
It was my sense that Russ was trying to get back in my good graces, and he seemed truly sorry about what had happened after we got home from the stadium in March.
I appreciated his remorse, and his efforts to make me happy.
My mind did, at least. My body was a different story.
He was still good-looking, objectively speaking.
I could see that. But my desire for him left me.
Even when he was being nice, it didn’t come back.
When we arrived at the house for Janet’s party, my father came out front to greet us, and though he embraced me first and kissed my cheek, he was clearly distracted by the sight of Russ’s new truck, a tamale-red, bull-nosed Chevrolet 3100 Deluxe, purchased just the week before.
My father declared the truck a beauty, admiring its shining grille and the lockbox bolted across the bed.
Russ pointed out the custom gauges and air-conditioning vents as my father peered in the windows, nodding with approval.
He still drove the Ford he’d bought when we were in Missouri, but he said, often, that he respected Russ for his industry and work ethic.
If he felt any resentment, he didn’t show it.
“Well done,” he told Russ. “An excellent choice.” Russ thanked him and said the compliment meant a lot, coming from him. My father smiled and looked at me. “Same for you,” he said, and laughed.
It took me a second to understand he meant I’d chosen well with Russ. Something in my expression made him pat my shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re here, honey. Mae could use some pleasant company. I’ll leave it to her to explain.”
The front room, where the television was already tuned to the game, was at least cooler than outside. Russ and my father each took a seat, and I followed the scent of vanilla to the kitchen. When Mae saw me, she nodded, but she didn’t turn off the mixer.
“I’m way behind schedule,” she said. “Shirley will be up from her nap any minute, and Janet and her friends will be here in half an hour. I sent them to the movies. And I still need to ice this cake.” She glanced back at the screen door. “Sorry. I’ve had a bad afternoon.”
I went to the sink to wash my hands. A picture of Bobby in his sailor whites was held to the fridge by a magnet that read Best MOM in the WORLD.
When Mae turned off the mixer, I asked why her afternoon was bad.
She looked over her shoulder and whispered that just an hour earlier, she and my father both had an unpleasant exchange with their neighbor, who was still leaving his dog out all day, no shade, in the terrible heat.
“I can’t stand it.” She used the tip of her pinkie to sample the frosting. “I’ve been thinking about a solution, thinking and thinking, and I finally convinced your father this morning.”
Mae’s solution had been to see if the neighbor might consider letting them take the dog, which they would then give to Janet as a birthday present.
Once she got the go-ahead from my father, she waited until Janet left for the movies, then went over to the neighbor’s front door, bearing a plate of cookies and the friendliest of smiles.
The neighbor heard her out, then said he’d sell her the dog for thirty dollars.
“I should have just dropped it.” She stirred more sugar into the frosting.
She had her hair tucked under a kerchief, and sweat trickled down the back of her neck.
“But I had to be stupid and contrary, pointing out that he didn’t seem to enjoy the dog much.
Next thing you know, he’s yelling that it’s his dog, and he can treat it however he wants, and now he won’t even sell it to me.
Your father had to come out and ask him to settle down, and this man, he was even rude to your father.
” She bulged her eyes in disbelief. “We finally got him to agree that Janet could still feed him scraps through the fence and pet him. That was it. So all that talk with a lunatic, and we’re back to where we started. ”
I went over to the window. The fence was the neighbor’s, chain-link and taller than I was.
The dog stood on the other side of it, panting and staring in my direction, likely watching for Janet.
Or maybe just dreaming of shade. It was a skinny, knee-high mutt, tan with a mark like a white star between its ears.
I turned back to Mae and told her I was sorry, and that at least she tried.
She pulled the beaters from the mixer and tossed them in the sink. “Trying doesn’t do diddly.”
“I’ll set the table,” I said.
She said she could do that. What she really needed was for me to run to Nolan’s and pick up some birthday candles. “I can’t believe I forgot,” she said. “It’s a little thing, but she’ll miss them. Especially as we had candles for Shirley.”
“That’s no problem.” I started to walk to the front room to get Russ. “Need anything else?”
“Just take our car, honey.” Mae opened the oven and shrank back from its heat. “Let Russ watch the game. The keys are under the seat.”
I told her Russ wouldn’t mind taking me.
“You know how to drive.” She put on pot holders and eased out the cake. “Just drive yourself.”
In the front room, Russ said something, and my father laughed.
“It’s like riding a bike.” She shut the oven door with her hip. “You used to do that, too.”
We looked at each other. She’d been short-tempered before I even walked in, because of the neighbor, because of the heat. She just wanted to poke at someone.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” I said.
“I keep thinking you’ll get better.” She muttered the words to my back. “But you keep getting worse.”
I turned around. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Of course I already knew. I wanted to say Get your own damn candles, and walk out. But I’d been looking forward to the party. I wanted to give Janet her presents. I wanted to sing “Happy Birthday” with everyone else.
She walked around the table and stood close, peering at me.
“We sent you to that place in New Jersey because we thought that was the best thing for you. We really did. And I don’t know what else we could have done.
But my God, Nora. You never came back.” She grabbed hold of my hand.
“You were bold when I met you. Bright and bold. Tell me. Where did that girl go?”