Gilda Joyce: The Bones of the Holy (4 page)

Surrounded by textbooks, homework assignments, and several copies of the “The Joyce Family Application,” Gilda sat at the dining table trying to study for her chemistry quiz while she waited for her mother to get home from her evening nursing shift. Her eyes stared at the Periodic Table, but her brain kept thinking about what, exactly, she would say to her mother about the engagement ring and her conversation with Mr. Pook. She was determined to tease out the whole truth.

On her right hand, Gilda wore the giant plastic ring, which she planned to use as a “conversation-starter”—something that might make her mother talk about jewelry and (with some encouragement) engagement rings.

Just as Gilda rested her head on her chemistry textbook to take a catnap, she sprung to attention at the sound of her mother bursting through the front door. She heard her mother kick off her shoes and hang up her jacket. Gilda knew her mother's routine: Like clockwork, she would spit out a wad of grape bubble gum, pour herself a glass of diet ginger ale, and take two ibuprofen tablets for her headache.

“Gilda! What are you doing up so late?” Mrs. Joyce looked stressed and weary following her shift at work.

“I'm studying for a chemistry quiz. Hey, can you believe what I found in my room? This giant sparkly
ring
I used to wear back in fifth grade. I used to pretend it was a
wedding
ring.”

“That's nice, honey.” Mrs. Joyce went into the kitchen.

Gilda felt disappointed; her mother had scarcely noticed the ring. She watched through the kitchen doorway as her mother took out her chewing gum and dropped it into the wastebasket.

“Mom, how do your patients feel about the grape bubble gum? It must be kind of weird having a nurse who smells like a sixth grader.”

“Believe me, Gilda, there are far more noxious smells in that place than bubble gum.”

Mrs. Joyce pulled a two-liter ginger ale from the refrigerator and then reached into the cabinet for her ibuprofen tablets, just as Gilda had predicted. “Gilda, I'm proud of you for studying hard, but you should get some sleep.”

“It's hard to sleep when there's a
big secret
weighing on your mind, you know?”

Mrs. Joyce frowned. “What kind of secret, honey? Is there something we need to talk about?”

“Funny—I was going to ask you that very same question.”

A flash of anxiety crossed Mrs. Joyce's face. “Gilda—I'm tired. What are you talking about?” She popped the ibuprofen tablets into her mouth and washed them down with a gulp of ginger ale.

“I just wondered whether there are any highlights from your Florida adventure that you'd like to share.”

Mrs. Joyce pursed her lips and eyed her daughter warily, feeling, as she often did, that living with Gilda was like living with an FBI agent. “I don't follow, Gilda.”

“I've heard that St. Augustine is supposed to be a very romantic city. . . . Some people even go there for their
honeymoons
.”

“Okay, Gilda.” Mrs. Joyce sat down at the table. “I see you've been doing some snooping, so you might as well tell me what it is you think you've discovered.”

“Well, I just happened to be in your bedroom—”

“You ‘happened' to be in my bedroom?”

“I was looking for a T-shirt you borrowed from me.”

“What T-shirt?”

“I don't know. A T-shirt. Anyway, I accidentally happened to find a diamond ring in your bag. So I was just curious because it kind of looked like an engagement ring.”

Mrs. Joyce sighed. “Gilda, you shouldn't have been looking in my suitcase without my permission. This is
not
the way I wanted you to find out.”

“OMIGOD, IT'S TRUE! I KNEW IT!”

“Shush! You'll wake up Stephen.”

“I hope I
do
wake him up. I should have bet him a million dollars you're engaged; then he'd owe me for life.”

“Gilda, I met someone in St. Augustine. I mean—I've actually known him for a while. . . . We met online and had been exchanging e-mails for some time, and when I finally had a chance to go meet him, everything just clicked; it all happened so fast. And . . . yes. It looks like we're planning to get married.”

Gilda was stunned at her mother's confession. It was the first time she had ever hoped that one of her hunches would turn out to be wrong. “But—”

“I know how you feel about new people coming into the family—”

“I've never had a problem with ‘new' people, providing they've had a thorough background check. Which is definitely NOT the case here.”

“Gilda, Eugene has the most lovely home in Florida, right on the water. You'll love St. Augustine; it's such an interesting city—the oldest city in the whole United States! And there are beaches and lots of haunted houses and ghost tours . . .”

“I've never cared about beaches, and—wait a minute. Did you say ‘haunted houses and ghost tours'?”

“I thought it would be pretty silly,” Gilda's mother continued, “but Eugene convinced me to go on one of the tours of the haunted houses, and it was quite interesting. I mean, I certainly don't believe in ghosts, but the locals in St. Augustine seem to feel that—”

“Sorry, Mom.” Gilda held up her hand like a stop sign. “I think I must have misunderstood you. Are you saying that you actually WENT ON A GHOST TOUR WITHOUT ME?!”

“Honey, you're going to have lots of chances to go on the ghost tours. I know you like those spooky games.”

Gilda fell silent, considering the situation in a new light.
If Eugene Pook convinced Mom to go on a ghost tour for the first time
,
is it possible he's not all that bad?
Gilda imagined telling her friends that she was heading down to the “beach house” for Christmas break. She imagined herself investigating ghost-infested Southern mansions and getting interviewed as a ghost-hunting expert on national television.

Still, the fact that her mother was actually planning to marry someone her kids had never met—someone she had only seen in person for a couple days—was appalling. For that, she felt her mother deserved the “Worst Mother of the Year” Award, if there were such a thing.

“Here, Mom.” Gilda thrust “The Joyce Family Application” in front of her mother with the officious flourish of a trial lawyer. “I have a few questions before we move forward. You can't blame me for wanting a few details.”

“Gilda, you are one of a kind.” Mrs. Joyce skimmed the paper and shook her head. “You may have to cut Eugene some slack in a few areas here. Nobody's perfect.”

“Translation: ‘He wears a thong bathing suit with flip-flops when he goes out to dinner.'”

Mrs. Joyce laughed. “Of course not. He dresses very nicely.”

“What then? You have to tell me
something
about him, Mom!”

“Okay . . . . As for why he's single: He was engaged once many years ago, but never got married. . . . And he doesn't have any children.”

“What went wrong when he was engaged the first time?”

“I don't know, Gilda. He said it was a long time ago. His past is his own business.”

Gilda wanted to probe this issue of his first fiancée further, but she sensed that her mother didn't want to talk about that subject. “Okay,” she said. “So how did you actually meet him?”

“Well, as I mentioned, he saw my picture on that dating website I joined over the summer, and we exchanged some e-mails, but I didn't think much of it since he lives in Florida. But when Lucy won the trip, she twisted my arm to take the trip with her and meet him.”

“And then he just swept you off your feet and proposed on the spot?”

“Not exactly.”

Gilda tried to interpret Mrs. Joyce's inscrutable facial expression. Why was her mother being so maddeningly vague?!

“Is he like Dad?” Gilda blurted. The question seemed to dangle in midair, and her mother was obviously taken aback.
Why did I ask that?
Gilda wondered.
Would I want my new stepdad to be like Dad? Which would be worse: a stepdad who's a bit like Dad—like a cheap copy—or someone who's completely different in some way I can't stand?

“Gilda, you know I've always told you that nobody could ever replace your dad or erase his memory. Your dad and I were highschool sweethearts—so young when we first met. We shared so many life experiences and problems together. I mean, we were best friends. . . . Eugene is different. Very
intense
.”

Somehow the word “intense” didn't match the voice Gilda remembered hearing on the telephone—a man who called her mother “Patty-Cakes.” On the other hand, she remembered the thick silence that had followed her fib about finding her mother's engagement ring under the radiator.
Maybe he's the jealous type,
Gilda thought.

“It's late,” said Mrs. Joyce. “Let's talk about it tomorrow, okay? I'm sure Eugene will answer your questions when you see him next week.”

“What do you mean, ‘see him next week'?”

“Eugene told me that he was able to get the exact location and date he wanted for the wedding ceremony. It's funny, but it looks like we're getting married the day after Halloween—a sunrise wedding.”

The words evoked a creepy picture in Gilda's mind: She imagined a bloodred sunrise and a wedding party dressed in witch's hats. There was her mother in her wedding dress taking the hand of a faceless shadow. Once again, Gilda felt a wave of that awful emotion—an unpleasant combination of fear and grief mixed together with a touch of rage.

For a moment, Gilda felt like crying. Instead, she swallowed her tears and stood up, determined to make her mother actually listen to her.

“Now just a red-hot minute, Mom!” It was a phrase one of Gilda's teachers at school often used, and it always seemed to get everyone's attention. “Where, exactly, are we going to be
living
after this supposed wedding on the day after Halloween? Is Mr. Pook moving in here or what?”

“We haven't figured out the details yet, but you don't have to worry. We'll stay here for the time being, and Eugene will visit when he can get away from work. At least until this school year is over. This has all happened so fast, and it will take time for me to sell the house and find a new job in Florida. Besides, I don't want Stephen to have to switch schools right in the middle of his senior year.”

“We wouldn't want to inconvenience
Stephen
.”

“And you, too, Gilda. There are lots of details to sort out, and there's no need for us to rush into moving to Florida.”

“So why rush into getting married?”

Mrs. Joyce sighed. “I understand you're upset about this, honey, but we're both tired now. Let's talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

As she returned her mother's perfunctory good-night hug, Gilda had a queasy sensation.
My entire life is about to be turned upside down,
she thought.

I
have an emergency,” Gilda said into the phone to Wendy. She was sitting on her bed, wearing an old General Motors T-shirt that had belonged to her father. “I tried
not
to call you, but I realized this can't wait until tomorrow.”

“What's wrong this time?” Wendy rubbed her eyes in the darkness of her bedroom. “You know,” she said, looking at her digital clock, “I should just set my alarm for one A.M. every night, since that's your favorite time to call me.”

“My mom's getting married next week,” Gilda blurted.

“No way.”

“Way. You know how I suspected that my mom was meeting a secret boyfriend in Florida? Well, I was right. Only it's way more serious than I thought. She just informed me that she's
getting married
to some guy I've never even met. An antiques dealer.”

“Wow. I mean—is she happy?”

“I was too nauseated by the whole situation to notice.”

“I guess it's kind of romantic.”

“It isn't romantic! I should at least get a chance to meet this guy and decide that I can't stand him before they get engaged!”

“Gilda, you haven't liked a single person your mom has dated. If I were her,
I'd
probably dread introducing you to my fiancé, too.”

“Aren't you supposed to be on my side?”

“I'm just saying.”

“Well, maybe you and my mom should get together to talk about guys, since you both seem to find me so hard to deal with.” Gilda watched the little metal balls rolling through the maze inside her plastic ring.

“I didn't mean it like that,” said Wendy. “I mean, it is weird how fast it's happening. And I guess that means you'll have a new stepdad hanging around the house, huh?”

“Wendy—this guy has a house and a business down in
Florida.
By next school year, I might not even
liv
e here anymore.”
Wendy has no idea how much more complicated everything is for me,
Gilda thought.
She probably can't imagine what it's like to have a family that might change shape at any moment—or to have someone you scarcely know suddenly move in with your family.
Gilda recalled the brief period when her mother's then-boyfriend Brad had moved in; it was like having a houseguest who never left, only worse. Wendy's parents, in contrast, seemed like unchanging mountains on a landscape; they were always just
there
.

Wendy fell silent, realizing that this was more serious than the usual Joyce household drama. “That's not good,” she said. “I mean, going to Florida for the wedding sounds kind of cool, but you moving away—that's not good.”