Chapter 20 Absent Hosts
Absent Hosts
Although Charlotte’s house was only a few blocks away, King insisted on driving to the party. Bitsy had new shoes, and he
worried that walking would hurt her feet.
Ever since he turned up with roses in his arms, King had been nothing but considerate and solicitous. So solicitous it sometimes
set her teeth on edge, which didn’t make sense. Maybe having nerves stretched like an overtuned guitar string was a symptom
of early pregnancy. She’d have to ask Viv.
With so many people invited to the party, they’d had to park three blocks from the house anyway. That was all right. Bitsy’s
white patent leather peep-toe pumps didn’t pinch at all and looked wonderful with her new dress—pink cotton linen with a scoop
neck and bell sleeves, all trimmed with white bugle beads. Bitsy didn’t normally spend much time thinking about clothes, but
she had driven to Arlington and spent two hours sorting through the racks at Hecht’s department store, trying on dress after
dress until she found this perfect Goldilocks of a gown—not too loud, not too plain. Simple, elegant, and just right.
Or would have been . . .
As they were about to wade into the stream of people making their way up the sidewalk to Charlotte’s open door, where two women in maid’s uniforms were taking coats and directing people to the bar, King pulled a white cardboard box out from behind his back.
“This is for you.”
Bitsy stared at the box, confused. It looked like something from a bakery.
“It’s a corsage,” he said, grinning as he opened the lid. “Here, let me pin it on for you.”
Of course she let him. She couldn’t very well say no, could she? King was trying so hard to make things right, too hard really.
But she didn’t like orchids, and she didn’t want flowers.
What she wanted was an apology. Not just a blanket “I’m sorry,” but a true apology, first for humiliating her in front of
Mrs. Graham, then for deserting her and worrying her sick.
Bitsy had told Margaret she hadn’t read Dearly Beloved, but that wasn’t entirely true. She had read the first chapter and skimmed two more before closing the book. Like Viv, she’d
found it depressing. However, not long before the Delilah incident, she had borrowed and read Margaret’s copy of Gift from the Sea.
What a beautiful book that was! So lyrical and lovely, and so full of wisdom.
Morrow used different seashells as metaphors for stages of a woman’s life. The chapter on the double sunrise shell—symbolizing
the early marriage, the husband and wife in harmony, mirror image halves hinged at the center—spoke to her deeply. So did
the oyster shell chapter, representing later years of marriage, when difficulties would create knobs on the shell surface.
Bitsy found comfort in the thought that this ugly, bumpy, oyster shell stage of marriage was perfectly normal, especially
when she reflected on how irritating bits of grit inside the oyster could become pearls with the fullness of time. Her marriage
wasn’t a mistake or failure; they were simply making pearls. What a relief!
Of course Morrow hadn’t specifically mentioned pearls in that chapter, but Bitsy felt it was implied. How could one think
of oysters and not think of pearls?
When King had returned home chagrined, Bitsy hadn’t been thinking about oysters or pearls.
She was almost too mad to think. She’d crossed her arms over her chest and stood in the doorway, told him she’d had enough.
She meant it too. But he was so pathetic, saying he didn’t deserve a second chance, begging for one anyway, that she started to feel sorry for him.
When tears formed in his eyes, she couldn’t take it anymore.
She unfolded her arms and allowed him to come in the house but told him to sleep on the sofa.
King didn’t protest. Over the next days, he was contrite and considerate. He made breakfast twice and did the dishes. He spent
Saturday afternoon waxing her car. Every night, he kissed her lightly on the lips and carried his pillow and blanket to the
couch without complaint. A week after his return, he came home with a pearl pendant on a gold chain.
Though he had neither specifically apologized for his behavior nor congratulated her for saving the horse, that pendant—the
single pearl resting in a lining of midnight-blue silk—felt like a sign.
And so, remembering the oyster, she forgave him and let him back in her bed, resolving to accept as spoken the words he had
never said, trusting that the hurtful grains of grit would be glossed over, layer upon layer and day by day, becoming beautiful
in time.
But forgiving is hard. Despite her resolutions and attempts to gloss things over, she still wanted a real apology without excuses or amendments. She wanted him to admit that she’d been right, that she was smart, and that he knew
this, knew her. And she wanted . . .
What else? Honestly, she didn’t know. But that wasn’t quite fair, was it? How could she be angry with him for failing to give
her something she couldn’t put a name to?
The corsage was composed of two purple blossoms tied with a lime-green bow. King pinned it to her dress.
“There!” he said, stepping back and smiling. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
King frowned. “You’re not wearing your necklace?”
“There’s already so much beading on the dress that I thought it might be too much.”
“Oh. Suppose you’re right. You look perfect now.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
* * *
The Gustafsons had one of the largest lots in Concordia, at least an acre, maybe more. It seemed as if every corner of it
was teeming with guests. Some faces Margaret recognized, but most were unfamiliar.
She and Walt stood under a red maple tree chatting with Viv, Tony, and Edwin Babcock. Helen had been invited too, but someone
had to mind the bookstore.
The men were talking baseball and Hemingway. Walt had enjoyed The Old Man and the Sea so much that he’d gone to Babcock’s in search of more books, and he and Edwin had formed a book club of their own. They met
in the VFW bar every second Thursday. So far it was just the two of them, but Edwin was trying mightily to recruit Tony. Viv
was eating a mushroom stuffed with crab and pretending to listen. Margaret was taking in the scenery.
She had never been to a party like this. A chamber quartet played background music. Waiters circulated among the crowd, offering
canapés from silver trays. Guests lined up to get cocktails from one of three bars—one in the house and two more outside.
Honestly, it was like something out of a movie.
Margaret was glad she’d worn her best green suit, and that Viv was able to fit into the blue maternity dress Margaret loaned her.
She’d have looked out of place and felt self-conscious in one of her plaid smocks.
They weren’t the best-dressed women at the party, but they looked like they belonged.
The men were well turned out too, Walt looking handsome in his charcoal pinstripe suit, Edwin casual but dapper in a sport coat, and Tony, in his dress uniform, looking like a matinee idol in a war movie. No wonder Viv kept getting pregnant.
But Margaret’s heart sank when she saw Bitsy exiting the back door of the house, holding King’s arm, carrying a cocktail,
and wearing what looked like . . . Was that a corsage?
She squinted to make sure.
Dear Lord, it was. An orchid corsage with a garish green ribbon that clashed with Bitsy’s beautiful dress and made it look
like she was running for prom queen. Judging from the look on Bitsy’s face and the grin on King’s, Margaret had no trouble
guessing whose idea that had been.
With her lithe figure and long legs, Bitsy was one of those women who’d look stylish in a burlap sack. But she had been so
excited about that dress, she’d dropped by Margaret’s house to model it after her shopping trip in Arlington.
Oh, poor Bits. And poor King. He clearly had no clue. Well . . . men. What could you do?
Margaret waved. King saw her first and brought Bitsy over. The women exchanged hugs. The men exchanged handshakes. Tony, who
seemed sincere, complimented Bitsy’s corsage.
“King got it for me,” she said, giving Viv and Margaret a side-eye.
Tony elbowed King. “Look at this guy, will you? Making the rest of us look bad.”
King laughed and put a possessive arm around Bitsy’s shoulders. For a few seconds, no one said anything—just shuffled their
feet and sipped their drinks. In this setting, they weren’t sure how to behave. And that was exactly the problem. They were
behaving and not being, dressed in costume and playing parts but not quite sure of their lines. It didn’t help that the men,
apart from Walt and Edwin, didn’t know each other well. Margaret finally broke the ice.
“Bitsy? What’re you drinking? Looks pretty.”
“Dubonnet on the rocks. Want to try it?”
Margaret took a sip. It was sweet and sour and herbal all at once. Viv, who was drinking iced tea, took a sniff when Bitsy moved the glass under her nose.
“Not for me, but it smells good. I heard somewhere that Queen Elizabeth drinks Dubonnet, so you’re in good company. Hey, has
anybody seen Charlotte?” Viv asked, turning her head to scan the crowd. “Or Denise?”
“Charlotte waved from the stairway when we came in,” Margaret said. “She promised she’d be right down, but I haven’t seen
her since. Denise came by a little bit ago. She loved the pen and asked me to thank everybody.”
Charlotte seemed almost too bright, too cheery, when she’d waved to them, twittering and overly alert, like a bird ready to
take flight at the first hint of danger. It made Margaret nervous.
“I’ve got to get back to the store,” Edwin said, “but I was hoping to see Denise and say goodbye. She’s become a regular customer,
has a fondness for George Sand and Edith Wharton and Virginia Woolf and . . . well, just about everybody.” He chuckled. “I
hate to miss her. Suppose she must be off somewhere with her friends.”