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Authors: Evan Marshall

BOOK: Crushing Crystal
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Chapter 39
A
middle-aged nun in a brown dress caught me by surprise when she sat next to me and rested her hand on my shoulder. “Did you lose a loved one tonight?” she asked.
“No, no, she's going to be okay,” I said. “My sister, um, had an accident. She's going to be okay, though.”
“That's good,” said the nun who introduced herself as Sister Miriam. “May I ask why you're crying about such good news?”
Despite my negative experience with the Catholic Church, I felt I could trust Sister Miriam. I told her everything about the past seven months, editing out all of the underwear tearing and observation-deck sex. I told her about the passionate weekend in Ann Arbor with Matt, the ad for Reilly's new wife that I placed in the
Village Voice
and the women I dated. I looked at her face to see if she'd keeled over from shock yet. When I saw that she was still smiling, I continued with Matt's week in New York, the singles party at the gallery, the bitching and cooking workshops, my weekend in Los Angeles (minus the cocaine) and running into Sarah while signing divorce papers with Reilly. “Now, they're getting married on the same weekend I was supposed to marry Matt had he not unceremoniously dumped me—again!” I cried.
“Dang,” Sister Miriam said. I didn't know nuns were allowed to say “dang.”
“So what's the verdict, sister?” I asked. “I'm going to hell, right?”
“Oh, I don't know if I'd say that.” She paused to take my hands in hers. “It sounds like you're already there.”
“Did I tell you that I had an abortion when I was seventeen?” I urged her to condemn me.
She knit her brow and looked down. Here it comes, I thought.
“That must have been very difficult,” Sister Miriam said. “Tell me, why is it that you felt the need to find a new wife for Reilly? It seems like a very odd thing for a young woman to do.”
“Because I'm a screw-up?” I asked her.
“Oh dear, you're very hard on yourself. Can I offer you a piece of advice, Prudence?”
Here it comes. Pack summer clothes for your eternal damnation in hell as Satan's little whore.
“Okay,” I braced myself.
“Have you ever considered a spiritual retreat?” she asked. “I think it would do you a lot of good to get away for a while and reflect.”
My cell phone rang inside my purse. I rifled around to find it when Sister Miriam told me that they don't allow phone conversations in “the House of the Lord.”
“Oh, but it's Father,” I contested.
Miriam smiled. “God doesn't call by telephone, dear.”
I laughed. “Not
the
father. My father,” I said, running out of the chapel to take the call. “Miriam, thank you for everything. You're an angel,” I shouted.
“Prudence,” Father's voice said, hurried. “What's wrong? I just got a message that you were in the hospital. Are you okay?”
“I'm fine, but Paige is in the hospital.” I rushed outside to the street to continue. “She went to a college party and some kid gave her some bad drugs.”
“Oh my God, Prudence!” he shouted. “Is she okay? Where is she?”
“Father, calm down. She's fine. I'm here at the hospital with her and the nurse told me she was going to be just fine.”
“Thank God. She's going to be fine, right? They said she'd be fine, didn't they?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” I assured him.
“Do you think Carla and I need to come home?”
“Yes, Father,” I said. “You and Carla need to get on the next flight home. They're keeping her for twenty-four hours for psychiatric evaluation, to see if this was a suicide attempt, but after that she can come home.”
“Suicide attempt?!” he gasped. “You don't think Paige was—”
“Father, I think Paige was doing what most seventeen-year-old kids do right before they go to college. Paige handled herself well under the circumstances. I'll fill you in on the whole story when you get here. Book the flight, Father. Come right to the hospital,” I told him before giving him the address and Paige's room number.
At around four in the morning, the nurse told me I could finally see Paige who was resting in her hospital bed. Since she was a patient in the pediatrics ward, Paige wore a long cotton gown with Baby Bugs and other Looney Tunes characters. Her face was stripped clean of all makeup and her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked mortified to be in the pediatrics ward. Just hours ago, she and Melanie were posing as rave-savvy club hoppers. Her new roommate was a freckle-faced eight-year-old who lay sleeping with a stuffed Hello Kitty doll and Buster Brown shoes lined up at the foot of her bed.
By noon, Paige was back to her old self. “I can't fucking believe I have to stay here all day,” Paige greeted me. “You
know
I wasn't trying to commit suicide, don't you?”
“Of course, I do,” I told her. “You do realize that your intentions wouldn't make a bit of difference if you died last night, which by the way, could have very well happened.”
“I know, Prudence,” she said, more like I imagine the Hello Kitty girl might answer her mother. “Would you believe me if I told you it was the first time I ever tried drugs?”
“No,” I practically snorted.
“It was the first time I ever tried
that
drug and that's the God's honest truth. I don't care whether you believe it or not,” she shot.
“Paige, I'm not going to pretend I'm some big sister to you when we both know very well that we're practically strangers. You seem like a smart kid who's got a really bright future ahead of you. I have no idea why you'd want to screw it up by taking drugs from someone you don't know.”
This is why I must never have children. My best advice was that she shouldn't take drugs from a stranger. Though I meant what I told Paige, my hypocrisy struck me as I recalled that a few months ago I was snorting lines of cocaine from my new best friend, whatshername in Los Angeles.
“Paige, let me try this again,” I said. “Who cares if I approve or disapprove of your doing drugs? You're the one who has to decide what kind of life you want for yourself. Do you want to end up in hospital emergency rooms for the rest of your life, hoping that the ambulance can get you to the hospital in time to pump the drugs out of your stomach? Is that the best you have to offer the world? Because I always saw you as this super bright kid who was going to really do something special with her life, not just keep the emergency room doctors busy with bullshit like this.”
“You're not going to tell Mom and Dad about this, are you?” Paige asked.
“I'm sorry, Paige, but I had to call them in Paris. They're your parents and they need to know that you're in the hospital. They'll be in later,” I told her.
“Shit, Prudence!” Paige snapped. “Why couldn't you have called Ashley?! You know how many times that girl's been in rehab. She'd at least be cool about this.”
Ashley has been in rehab? For what? When?
“Fuck,” she sighed. “Do you know what kind of hell I'm going to have to pay for this, Prudence? It was one little mistake. Not everyone can be little Miss Perfect, you know?!”
Tell me about it. Wait a second. Did she mean me?
“Who's little Miss Perfect?” I asked.
“Oh please,” she said. Then she made a female voice and mockingly said, “Did you know that Prudence graduated summa cum laude from Michigan? Prudence went to Wharton School of Business, whoop di doo. And did you know that Prudence is a partner at Deloitte and Touche?”
“Who the hell says that to you?” I asked.
Paige folded her arms and sighed. “Mom, that's who,” as if I were an idiot for asking.
“When did you ever talk to my mother?”
“
My
mother, Prudence!”
Carla?!
“Carla?!”
Paige shook her head. “I would have never shown up on your doorstep unless it was an emergency. Do you know how hard it was for me to ask for help from the world's most accomplished everything?”
I couldn't help laughing. “I'm sorry to laugh, but the thought of you referring to me as perfect just makes me realize that we really are strangers, Paige. You know absolutely nothing about my life.”
“And why is that?” Paige snapped. Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “Because you think you're better than us, that's why!”
“Oh, girl, you
are
on drugs,” I said. “Nurse, she's hallucinating again.”
Paige continued. “Please don't tell me about how your life is in such a shambles because you brought out the formal dishes for your informal dinner party last weekend. Boohoo, poor Prudence's life is such a big mess!” She held her hand to her tilted forehead in a dramatic pose and started imitating me. “Woe is me, my tech stocks took a dive and I only made a million in the stock market instead of the two mil I had my heart set on. Cry me a river, my life is so hard.”
“Paige, let me assure you my life is a lot more complicated than that. Besides, your mother has nothing to complain about with you going to Brown. I'm sure she's plenty proud of you.”
“Yeah, right,” she said rolling her eyes.
“Wanna hear a story?” I asked. “I guarantee by the end of it, you'll never mistake me for perfect again.”
She nodded. I was momentarily conflicted by the desire to hang on to the false impression my teenage half sister had of me. Perfect? Here was one person on the planet who actually thought of Prudence Malone as perfect and I was about to set her straight. I wish I'd known this sooner so I could have savored the myth.
I brought my chair closer to Paige's hospital bed, leaned in to her and whispered, “In October, I went back to Ann Arbor for my college homecoming game . . .”
An hour later, I ended the story telling Paige about how I'd been dumped by Matt and how Reilly was marrying Sarah. “You're making this up, right?” Paige asked. “This is just to make me feel better, right?”
I shook my head. “Every last word of it is true. Still think my life is perfect?”
She smiled wide and fought off sleep for just another moment. “That is the most fucked-up story I've ever heard. Your life sucks, man.”
I laughed. “No, actually it doesn't, Paige. It's pretty good. Some parts have definitely sucked lately, but overall, it's pretty good.”
Chapter 40
T
he following weekend was Father's Day, and for the first time in decades, I accepted Father's invitation to his annual family barbecue. Unlike his other events, this party had a small guest list. Just his four daughters and their respective spouses and offspring, and Carla and her parents.
Father's Day offered absolutely perfect clothesline weather. Clean sunshine. Gentle warmth. And a breeze that was just strong enough to deliver the scent of freshly cut grass and newly blossomed honeysuckle.
Ashley was eight months pregnant and beaming like a page from the L.L. Bean catalog. Her blond hair was pulled back neatly in a tortoise-shell headband and her robust belly was covered with a pastel floral sundress. Extra wide espadrilles accommodated her swollen feet.
Carla was even on good behavior today. It would have been kind of tough to pull off being a bitch to me after I helped save her youngest daughter's life. “Good to see you, dear,” she said as she emerged from her bedroom after her afternoon nap with a black satin sleep mask slipped up to her upper forehead.
Paige shot me a look as if to say, “Should we tell her?” Before I could nod no, Ashley informed her mother that she was still wearing her sleep mask.
Carla gasped as if she just discovered a squirrel sitting on her head. “I'm still half asleep. Happy Father's Day, Trenton,” she said, kissing him. “You don't know how long your dad's been talking about having all of you here together for Father's Day.”
Paige looked fully recovered from her night of ecstasy. Teenagers are like New York in spring. One day, a storm; next week it's beach weather again. Paige was working at a vintage record store in the city for the summer where she practically used her entire wages on train fare and hair dye. Before dessert was served, she stuck out her tongue and showed us all her new tongue bar. “Pretty cool, huh?” she laughed, knowing her parents would not agree. She was off to Brown in the fall, and Father and Carla were going to finish their tour of France after Paige started school.
When the lemon meringue pie was served, Father lifted his paper cup of lemonade and made a toast. “Carla was right when she said I've been waiting a long time to have a Father's Day where all of my daughters—and grandchildren and sons-in-law—were here to celebrate with me. I don't want to get mushy here, but suffice it to say that this is one of the happiest days of my life. To the Malone family.”
Paige gave me a look as if to say “Pretty corny, huh?”
I just smiled. I had not only helped find my replacement for Reilly. Paige had taken over as the proverbial thorn in Father's side. Later in the family room, I put my arm around Paige's neck and pulled her close to me to whisper in her ear. “Undoubtedly, you are the coolest person in this family, but try not to give Father
too
hard a time, okay? He's an old man, and he's trying. Give him a break.”
“Not a total break,” Paige said.
“Are you kidding?!” I shot. “Never a total break.” I switched gears as we sat on the couch alone. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” Paige answered.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. Look Prudence, I know not to take drugs from strangers anymore. That's why I decided that once I get to Brown, I'm turning my dorm room into a meth lab,” she winked. “Seriously, I'm going to be fine. You don't have to worry about me.”
“I know I don't have to, but I kind of like it,” I said, staring into her smooth and youthful eyes. “You know, you really are a beautiful girl.”
“I know, I know if only I didn't wear all this eyeliner and pale foundation, right? How many times do I have to hear this?”
“I wasn't going to say that, Paige,” I said. “Jesus, you're an edgy little thing. I just said you're beautiful, that's all. Calm the fuck down, child.”
We laughed.
“How are you doing anyway?” Paige asked. “Did that dickhead ever come crawling back to you?”
“Paige!” I said in mock horror. “That's no way to speak about our father.”
“Can we keep in touch when I go to Rhode Island?” Paige asked.
“I'd love that.”
 
 
Father drove me back to the city that night after my multiple refusals and offers to take the train home. When we pulled up to my apartment, Father got quiet. “There's something I want to give you, Prudence,” he said solemnly. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small jewelry box with a small note attached. I opened the box and inside was a tiny gold necklace with a coin-sized dream catcher with a diamond caught in its web. His card read, “To my first Indian Princess.”
Do not cry,
I urged myself. But it was too late.
I hugged him with my entire body for the first time in so long it took me back to my twelfth Christmas when I leapt into his arms after he wheeled out my banana seat bike with metallic pink plastic fringes coming from the handlebars. The insides of my arms cried over the familiar feel of Father's broad shoulders pressed against them. My face brushed against his sandpaper jaw. I noticed he'd changed colognes since the last time I was close enough to smell him.
“I feel terrible,” I said. “I can't believe I'm getting a Father's Day gift from my father. This is almost embarrassing. I didn't get you anything.”
“You have no idea what you've given me,” he smiled.
 
 
The next week Reilly called me at the office and asked if he could swing by to drop off something. I assumed it was our certificate of divorce when I saw him at my office door holding a white envelope. We sat across from each other at my desk, his forearm resting comfortably on it. Reilly picked up my glass paperweight and held it to his eye, making him look like a fish.
“I've got something for you, Prudence,” he began.
“So you said.”
“When I tell you that I wasn't the perfect husband, please don't for a minute assume that I'm suggesting you were in any way, shape or form the perfect wife,” he smiled. “At the same time, I've come to realize that there's a lot more I could have done to make you happy in our marriage. I don't know how many times you asked me to take you to Italy, but I never really listened. I'm sure it will give you a great sense of comfort to know that I will never do that with Sarah. When she tells me something is important to her, I'm going to pay attention this time.”
“So happy I could be the one you made your mistakes with,” I laughed.
“Look, you're hardly one to talk. Let me finish, though. As a thank-you for introducing me to Sarah, and as a long-overdue apology for dragging you to Club Wed for our honeymoon, I wanted to give you this,” Reilly said, tossing the envelope onto my desk.
I opened the white linen envelope to find one first-class ticket to Rome on Air Italia. “I couldn't buy the ticket for Surfer Boy, Prudence. I am just not that big a man,” he said. “You've got money. You can take care of his airfare. You can use this ticket anytime and the return is open-ended.”
“Reilly,” I said softly. “I really don't deserve this.”
“You know, Prudence, you really do,” Reilly said, scrunching his mouth. “I got your reply card for the wedding and it said you're bringing Jennifer. It'll be good to see her. Please tell her to try not to outdress the bride, okay?”
I decided I would leave for Rome the day after Reilly and Sarah's wedding. My schedule had already been cleared for a six-week leave for my honeymoon, and summer would be a perfect time to explore Italy on my own.
“Reilly, I don't know how I can thank you for this,” I said.
“Just be at the wedding and have a good time,” he said lightly. “When you're in Italy, you might send us a postcard too.”
“Hey, I've got a fun idea, Reilly!” I said. “Considering how you and Sarah met, what do you think about breaking tradition and having me walk you down the aisle and give
you
away?”
He laughed. “Cute, but I think we're going to do things our own way. Just come and be a guest. You're not going to be center stage on this one,” he winked before turning to leave. “Prudence, I don't have any regrets about the time we spent together or how it ended.”
“Get out of here,” I said, tossing a piece of crumpled paper at him. “If you're any more charming, I'm going to start having regrets, so get going.”
The door closed and I jumped on my desktop yelling, “I'm going to Italy” like the Super Bowl quarterbacks who tell the cameras that they're headed to Disneyland. “Italy, baby!” I shouted and jumped with my hands in the air. Then I remembered my glass walls and noticed my office mates staring at me. “I'm going to Italy,” I told them with exaggerated pronunciation so they could read my lips. “Italy,” I said again. “Europe, Italy.” No cheers or thumbs-up through the glass. Fuck 'em, I'm going to Italy, I thought, then continued my Italian desk dance.
After a few minutes, I e-mailed Jennifer, Sophie and Chad.
Can you guys meet for dinner tonight? Bon Voyage to me because I am going to Italy. Italy, baby! It - a - ly. Bar 89? Seven-thirty. Next week, I'm taking off for the entire summer so please, please, please join me for my sendoff. Boyfriends welcome. P.S. I love you guys!
The night before Reilly's wedding, I cried as I packed for Italy. I knew that Matt and I wouldn't have worked out, but my heart still broke at the thought that I should be packing for our honeymoon. Then I remembered that in just two days, I would be on my way to Italy and not the Czech Republic. That took some of the sting out.

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