Helen of Pasadena (31 page)

What the hell is ephemera?
“Let me guess—he’s single?”

“Well, he was until he got to Pasadena! Oh, Helen, it was love at first sight. Now I know lithography is not as sexy as archaeology. But he appreciates me. And I can learn to love vellum.” By now, Sarah’s well-bred veneer had given way to full-blown blushing. I thought she might ask for a taste of my yogurt, she was so far out of character.

“Sarah, I couldn’t be happier for you.” And I meant it. She’d come to my rescue when I needed it. I was happy she’d found what she wanted. “How long is Professor Westbrook going to be in Pasadena?”

“A year! And that’s enough time, isn’t it, Helen?”

“Enough time for what?”

“To figure out what to do with the rest of my life.” Sarah was sincere in her concern.

“More than enough!” I laughed. That was months more than Patrick and I had, I thought. Lucky Sarah. “You look wonderful, so I would just enjoy your Distinguished Scholar and not worry too much about the future right now.”

“Is that what happened with you and Patrick?”

My face drew a blank, partly because I’d never actually acknowledged any sort of relationship with Patrick to Sarah. And partly because the soupy yogurt was quickly seeping through the recyclable cup and I needed to wipe my hands on my pants, which might make Sarah faint. So, to buy time on both accounts, I stammered, “Umm.…”

“Oh, Helen, everybody knew! Did you think we didn’t notice the, the
thing
between you two? Even the security guard at the front gate used to talk about what a cute couple you made! He told us about the night you came back to the Huntington really late. Together.” Sarah was full of surprises. And technically, it was only about nine that night, but whatever. “I thought you did, too. That’s why I was surprised to hear that you broke it off.”

“I’m sorry, you heard what?” I tossed the cup in a nearby garbage can and wiped my hands, propriety be damned. What was Sarah talking about? “From whom?”

“Patrick. Patrick told me. We’ve talked a half-dozen times since he had to fly off to London to see his daughter in the hospital. Or, ‘in hospital,’ as the British say. I’m sure you heard about the meningitis scare. Poor guy, he was beside himself the night he left. His daughter was out of the woods, but he wanted to see her,” Sarah said.

Meningitis? I had no idea. He had never mentioned meningitis to me. There had only been the hint in his note that he needed to see his daughter. And nothing in the e-mails afterward, except that he had squeezed in a visit to London. Why? Why hadn’t he explained? I didn’t feel like pretending with Sarah anymore. “Sarah, what did he say about me breaking it off?’

“He told me that you didn’t feel the timing was right. You seemed to want to keep it a ‘one moment in time’ sort of relationship.” My face must have really fallen, because Sarah gasped, “Helen, are you okay?”

No, I wasn’t. “I am an idiot.”

“Do I have it wrong?”

“No, you have it right. I did say that. I thought … I thought I was saying what Patrick wanted to hear.”

“How did that work for you the first time? With Merritt?” It was the most pointed thing Sarah had ever said to me, maybe that anyone had ever said to me. Is that what Life Coach Tina was trying to say when she suggested I take what I learned this year and apply it? Sarah looked at me with the understanding of someone who hadn’t been particularly stellar in the relationship department either.

“You know, not that well.” And we both laughed.

More than square footage and a prestige address, I missed my old air conditioning. In my haste to get in a bid on Sunshine Street, I’d failed to ask about central air. I discovered during the first triple-digit hot spell that my dream cottage had one tiny window unit and limited circulation.

I was still trying to sort out my financial situation with Bruno and Billy Owens in the aftermath of the house sale. “Don’t do too much too soon,” Bruno warned. Billy added, “Let’s let the dust settle before you start making home improvements.”

What Billy really meant was that investors to Fairchild Capital may still come out of the woods to sue. My strategy? Lay low and pray. By next summer, I’d know if I could afford AC. In the meantime, I took a lot of cold outdoor showers and sat around in the least amount of clothing possible. Thank God Aiden was in Oregon for the summer.

That’s how Mitsy found me on a hot July night, dripping wet and barely dressed. I leapt to attention, hoping she could look beyond my tank top and batik pareo, underwear optional.

She could not. “Are you going to do the limbo later? You look positively native.” Mitsy did, too, in apple-green golf skirt, pink polo shirt and Jack Rodgers sandals. Pasadena native.

Our relationship had been cool since the night of the benefit and her grand donation. Of course, we got through the mandatory family events with civility and a sense of duty, like the Mother’s Day brunch at the club and Aiden’s Millington graduation. We even sat together in solidarity at Mass on Father’s Day, remembering that Aiden was a boy without a dad. The good thing about never having had a close relationship with Mitsy was that a sudden cold spell did not register with the general public. Mikki and Mimi would never have noticed the chill in the air, and Aiden hadn’t asked any questions.

Even the dreaded task of informing Mitsy that Aiden would be attending a public school specializing in the performing arts instead of Merritt’s beloved Catholic alma mater had been cordial. Okay, I almost threw up from the stress, but Mitsy had been very gracious to Aiden. She saved her strongest condemnation for me. “I can’t imagine how Merritt would have felt about this. That’s a moot point. This never would have happened if Merritt were alive.”

I felt refreshingly undisturbed by her outburst. I was making progress.

Mitsy’s appearance at our little bungalow was unprecedented. She hadn’t bothered to check out our new digs, despite the fact that we’d moved in more than a month ago. Of course, she’d been in Nantucket for three of those weeks visiting a college roommate and drinking gin and tonics, an annual rite that she referred to as her “Sojourn on the Island.” Glancing around now at my new house, she held out a bag, “Isn’t this charming? And so close to that chicken hut down the street! What luck! A little housewarming gift.”

On a list of things I would Never Need Again in My Life, a scrimshaw of a whaling ship must rank right up at the top. Was she kidding? I had just sold every piece of decent art we’d collected over fifteen years and she was handing me Ye Olde New England souvenir? “Thanks. Please sit. Would you like some lemonade? Or a diet soda?” I deliberately left wine off the list, despite the fact that I was enjoying a spritzer with lots of lime. I didn’t want her to stay.

“Yes, it is hot in here. Nothing, though, I won’t be long. I just wanted to give you these,” she said, pulling a large envelope out of her Nantucket basket tote.

Could it possibly be more scrimshaw? I was too hot to wait. “What’s this?”

“The tickets from the benefit. The tickets to Greece. I thought you might want to go. After all, I bought them for you. And Aiden, of course.”

I was stunned, but not into silence. Into a sort of rage. How dare she! “You know, Mitsy, if you wanted to send Aiden and me on vacation, you certainly didn’t have to spend several hundred thousand dollars. Mexico is just fine for us. So let’s not pretend that you made that donation for me or for Aiden.”

“Of course not. I didn’t mean to imply that I had,” she said, keeping her cool like a reptile. “It was time I stepped up and did something significant for Pasadena. The tickets were an afterthought. But I did think you might appreciate them.”

“You want me to be grateful? You pledged a quarter of a million dollars for other people’s children to go to school and your own grandchild may not have the money for college. And I’m supposed to be grateful?” I was not holding back.

Neither was she. Mitsy straightened her spine and stared straight ahead, not making eye contact. She spoke carefully, “I know about Merritt. I know what he did to you. I know the mess he created. The one you had to clean up.”

“If you knew, if you understood, then why did you tell me after Merritt’s death that you wouldn’t help us? Let me rephrase that. You said it ‘wasn’t possible’ for you to help us.” I didn’t add that the truth was that she had the money, but she didn’t have the heart.

Mitsy stood for effect. “What if I had helped? What if I had told you right then that I would pick up the tab for Aiden’s college? Oh, and don’t worry about high school, I’d pave the way at Ignatius with a huge donation. What then?”

“Then maybe I would have gotten a lot more sleep than I have in the last six months. Maybe, maybe …”

Maybe
what?

“Oh, you would have slept. You would have barely been able to get out of bed. You would have curled up in a ball and waited for everything to cave in before you tried to stop the pain.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because that’s what I did when my husband died. I was para-lyzed with fear. I thought someone was going to take care of me for the rest of my life… and then he went and died! So I curled up in a ball for a year before I could face my future. And by then, I had almost destroyed it. The finances, my relationship with my children, my, my … self-worth. I didn’t want that to happen to you. If I’d given you that money, the promise that I would take care of you financially, you’d still be sitting in that house, stunned and shocked. But you’re not. You got up and you did what you had to do. You have moved on in a way that I never could. Look at you!” And she did. Mitsy’s eyes met mine, “The job, the new house, the environment you created for Aiden—you did that. You will be fine because you made it so.”

I was speechless. Mitsy had outdone herself. She had manipulated me in every way possible. I’d fallen right into her trap. Mercifully. Thankfully. After winning her approval
finally
, I found myself on the verge of tears.

“You will be fine,” Mitsy repeated. “Merritt was a flawed man. I blame myself. That period of my life when he needed me, I wasn’t there. He learned to cope, but not with honor. You were a good wife to him.” Her voice cracked a tiny bit. She pushed the envelope forward. “Take the tickets. Go see that archaeologist of yours.”

In my fifteen years as a Fairchild, I had never seen Mitsy look so vulnerable.

Then the Snake Goddess appeared again, calm, cool and in charge. “It’s a trip for two. You can take Aiden before he starts school. Or simply go alone and see what happens.”

I found my voice. “Thank you.”
Should I hug her? Is that what’s called for?
Too late.

“I understand you’ve resigned from the club.” Apparently, our kumbayah moment was over. We were back to doing what we Fairchild women do best: logistics.

“I did. Not in the budget this year.”

“Yes. Even still, I hope you and Aiden will still be there for the family soiree on Labor Day. The Lobster Cookout. As my guests, of course.”

“We’d love that.”

“Good. Press on.” With that, she was gone.

But I had my sign.

From: Helen Fairchild

Subject: Interview/Trip

Patrick…

Quick update. First, we’d like to do a follow-up interview for the pilot episode about what you found in Moscow. We need about five to seven minutes on “Was Priam’s Treasure for real or faked” from your POV. Annabeth thinks I should do the interview. Is that something I can schedule with you for mid-August?

Also, remember how my mother-in-law bought you at the auction(!) Well, in a shocking display of humanity, she has given the trip to Aiden and me. I know you may not have the time to really fulfill the whole auction thing. But, if you have any suggestions on must-see places that we should visit when we take advantage of the first-class tickets and five-star accommodations, please do advise. Thanks.

Let me know about possible interview dates.

Oh, and I heard from Sarah that your daughter had meningitis. How terrifying.

Helen

From: Dr. Patrick O’Neill