Mourning Glory (29 page)

The revelation startled her.

"Could be those were the times I went to the
movies."

"Mom, I've been calling from the job. You're not home
at night."

"I might have been in the shower."

"Mom, I'm not stupid. Where do you go?"

She felt a sudden knot in her stomach. Was this the time to
make a clean breast of it? She pondered the question briefly, then rejected the
idea, hating herself for mistrusting her own daughter.

"Are you still involved with the clothing? You know,
the charity thing?"

That again? Grace wondered. Was that still on her mind?

"It's over," she replied, gagging on the lie.

"You mean the source has run out?"

"It's over. That's what I mean."

She held her temper, watching her daughter's face, sensing
her suspicion.

"You look as if you don't believe me," Grace
said, regretting the comment instantly.

"Did I say I didn't?"

"Please, Jackie, no games. We've been through that.
Let's drop the subject."

"Why are you so touchy about it, Mom?"

"I'm not touchy. It's just that ... whenever we get on
the subject, it causes problems."

Jackie turned away and began to get undressed for bed.
Grace wished she didn't have to be so closemouthed and oblique. But she couldn't
risk the truth. Not yet.
Someday,
she assured herself.
It's for us,
Jackie. You and me. Be patient,
she told herself.
I'll make it up to
you.

"I know it's not easy, Mom," Jackie said.
"Believe me, I don't want problems between us."

"I know, Jackie," she replied, calling upon her
inventiveness. "It's not as easy as you think. Good jobs don't grow on
trees. Besides, I'm a little burnt out on being a cosmetician. And the reason
I'm away so much is that I don't like spending time alone in this place."

"Mom, the unemployment checks won't last
forever."

"You think I don't know that?"

"It's scary."

"I know, Jackie."

"But where do you go, Mom?"

"That again?"

"You'd expect the same honesty from me," Jackie
said.

"I know I've been evasive, but it's only to spare you.
Sometimes I go to the movies. Sometimes to a shopping mall; not to buy, just
for kicks. Sometimes, I just drive around."

"Gee, Mom, I hadn't realized things were that
bad." Jackie managed a smile. "I was hoping that you found some
guy."

Grace shrugged, unwilling to articulate the lie. She
thought suddenly of the life she had superimposed on her daughter, the smart
young woman who had chosen to pursue a medical career, who would have little
trouble getting into Princeton, her brilliant, attractive, wonderful daughter.
Her heart sank as she considered the prospect of Jackie being confronted by
Sam.

"What's going to happen to us, Mom?" Jackie shook
her head. "I feel like I'm on a treadmill, going nowhere. I hate my jobs,
and Mom..." Grace worried through a long pause. "I'm doing lousy in
school. I'm thinking maybe I should drop out for awhile."

Grace felt a thump in her head.

"No way, Jackie. I won't have that. No way."

"Don't go ballistic, Mom. Just for the time
being."

"There is no time being, Jackie. If you hate the jobs
you have, think of what's ahead of you. More of the same. Without skills,
you're a dead duck."

"I'll be a dead duck no matter what, Mom."

Grace studied her daughter. In her present state, tired,
pale and obviously depressed, she looked pitiful.

"You're just exhausted, Jackie. You took on too much
of a burden."

Grace moved across the room and embraced her daughter, who
did not resist.

"I'm so tired, Mom."

"I know, darling."

"It all seems so ... so discouraging. I haven't got
time to breathe."

"It will all work out, Jackie," Grace said, upset
at seeing her daughter so tired. "I know it will. I'm angling for
something now that could be wonderful for both of us. Just have patience."

"Mom, please, don't raise false hopes. I couldn't bear
it."

"Maybe ... well, maybe if you quit the night
job..."

She felt her daughter stiffen against her.

"But I won't be able to make the payments. That's the
one thing Darryl insists on."

"Let's not start on Darryl," Grace said. She
dreaded talk about Darryl most of all.

"I know you hate him, but the fact is, Mom, he's the
only bright spot in my life."

"Then everything else must be awfully bleak."

"It is, Mom. Sorry about that."

"He's making a slave out of you," Grace said,
holding back her anger. "Can't you see that?"

"What I see is that if I don't pay the hundred and
twenty-five, Darryl will take the car back. And I'll lose the down payment.
That's the deal."

"Then let him take it," Grace snapped.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" Jackie muttered.

"Yes, I would."

It brought back the terror of the car transaction and the
distasteful memory of the monstrous Darryl. Had she talked to him yet about the
matter of the documentation? Considering Jackie's present condition, Grace
decided it was better for now to keep quiet on that subject.

"Okay," she said. "I'll drop it. I just hope
the day of reckoning won't be too painful."

"For you or for me?" Jackie sneered.

"For both of us." Grace sighed, thinking of Sam,
wishing for resolution. And deliverance.

Sam decided that it was pointless to analyze, scrutinize or
speculate about his relationship with Grace. It was easier to simply accept,
enjoy and go with the flow. He felt neither guilt, pressure nor remorse. For
her part, Grace seemed to be of the same mind. There was no game plan, no
subtle hints of the future, nothing but the present.

Not that the past, especially his life with Anne, could be
erased like chalk on a blackboard. It had been cleansing to lift the burden of
memory, to clear away the cobwebs of guilt and betrayal that had inhibited his
life with Anne. With Grace he could revel in the freedom of honest
communication, undo the restraints of withholding elements of his true nature,
give free reign to his sexuality, enjoy the openness and inner tranquility that
complete candor provided.

As much as he was observing her, learning about her,
prodding her for more and more of her history, he supposed that she was
observing him with equal eagerness. Both of them seemed to prefer this state,
where not only did the present count, but the past, the intimacy and honesty of
it, was a prelude, a foreshadowing of the present and, perhaps, the future. It
was deliciously comfortable, free from repression or cant.

No overtures had been made by either of them for a more
permanent arrangement. By silent agreement, he supposed, such a prospect had
been taken off the table. She had, in her special way, set the conditions of
their relationship, which seemed to mean keeping the status quo. She seemed to
have no desire to pursue anything material. She expressed no interest in
possessing any of Anne's clothes. There was no hint of wanting gifts of any
sort, especially gifts of money. He would have gladly obliged, although, in
truth, it would have put him on his guard. Above all, he hated being on guard.
He had been on guard a lifetime with Anne.

Many women of Grace's generation, more than one removed
from his own, with an inherent sense of independence, might be humiliated to
accept any arrangement that smacked of dependency on a man's favor. She didn't
have to say it. He could sense it. Besides, as she indicated, she was
apparently financially comfortable in her own right.

Although he would very much have wished to shower her with
gifts, he assumed that her refusal, spoken and unspoken, was her way of saying
that she preferred her complete freedom from any obligation and commitment. Or,
he feared, this was her way of saying that this arrangement was transitory,
that she considered the age gap between them unbridgeable.

Or, more optimistically, perhaps she wanted no hint of
materialism to corrupt their relationship. Not that she had said or even hinted
that she held these views. Yet he was sure of it. This, he supposed, was the
real meaning of intimacy, knowing for sure what was meant between them.

He yearned for her to spend more time with him, especially
nights. Night accentuated the terrors and turbulence of loneliness and brought
the darker side of imagination into play. It was a time when one came to grips
with the transient nature of mortality, the reality of diminishing time, the
looming threat of the relentless hand of death.

Grace had shown him the power of life. Her flesh had
infused him with the energy of youth. When she was gone his powers seemed to
wane, the lights dimmed. At night he yearned to touch her and hear her living
sounds beside him. There was too much space here alone. He needed her to fill
it with him.

Yes, he wanted her with him, days, nights, as long as he
could project his future. But to suggest that would imply a giant step forward
in their relationship. Most of all, he feared that she would reject any idea of
permanency.

He had agreed to the isolation for both their sakes. This
was too delicate a time for them to endure the pressures of observation, of
lending themselves to other people's opinions. He had no wish either to expose
Grace to inevitable harsh judgments or have Anne's memory suffer by indirect
defaming.

Old friends would call from time to time to suggest various
proven recipes to deal with his grief. Many invited him out, although no one
had yet suggested that he seek solace in female companionship, although he knew
that it was on their minds. He did not go to the club. From force of habit,
despite his diminished interest, he continued to consult with his various
financial advisers.

Mostly, he looked forward to his moments with Grace, which
were the only times he felt fully alive. He acknowledged that it was mysterious
that such an overwhelming wave of passion had engulfed him at the moment of his
greatest grief. Was he being somehow unfaithful to Anne's memory, as he had
been unfaithful to her in life? It troubled him. He could see how others might
interpret his actions as callousness, indifference and disrespect for his late
wife.

Bruce continued to call him, always under the guise of
filial love and caring, offering various caveats and instructions to him for
protection against predators of the female gender. He zealously exerted
pressure on him to better arrange his estate for future preservation, which
meant, also, the avoidance of estate taxation and, consequently, more
inheritance for Bruce and his sister. What he had done previously was to draw
up conditions that would protect Anne from the conflicting desires of his
children and the possibility of her being besieged by predators. Lonely widows
were easy pickings. Her death had skewered that arrangement.

Carol, too, called, but her needs were mostly immediate. He
usually obliged to some extent, knowing that the money would be thrown into a
rat hole, if only to shield himself from her constant whining.

He often speculated that Bruce and Carol truly believed
that his refusal to make these arrangements was a way for him to maintain
control over them. But he had concluded instead that what he really wanted was
exactly the opposite, to maintain his independence from them, to divorce
himself from their prospects. In the end, he felt certain he would take steps,
from force of habit, to keep his estate from the clutches of the tax collector.

As for potential predators, which by his son's definition,
meant scheming women fortune hunters who preyed on wealthy aging widowers, any
precaution seemed laughable. He considered himself too aware, too street smart,
too cunning and shrewd, too far from senility, too practical and cautious to
allow female predators to come near him, no less feast on his carcass. It was
an amusing irony to him that Grace was exactly the opposite of such a
definition.

What he insisted on was that any arrangement he would
devise for his estate's disposal must be his own decision, not his children's.
Pressure from them made him particularly resentful and defensive and, above
all, unwilling to accede to their wishes.

He knew, of course, that it was only a matter of time
before his son would find a way to discover the truth about him and Grace.

"I know what's going on with that woman, Dad,"
Bruce told him finally. By then Sam had been intimately involved with Grace for
about a month.

"I was wondering when you would get around to
that."

"It was quite by accident, Dad. A woman called asking
for a reference on Carmen. Frankly, I couldn't believe you got rid of her. I
called her and she told me ... well, that you were involved with the woman who
had come to dispose of Mom's clothes."

"I offered them to you and your wife. And to Carol.
Apparently you didn't want them."

"Just because we left them in the house didn't mean we
didn't want them," Bruce said with a pained air.

"It's the first I've heard about it."

"Anyway, that's not the issue, Dad. It's really your
call about the clothes."

"So you don't want any of them?"

"I guess not, but that's still not the issue."

"What is, then?"

"I'd say it was a matter of respect for Mom."

"What is?"

"I called a number of your friends. They said you
hadn't been to the club and remained holed up at home. Am I right to conclude
that you're carrying on with that woman?"

"Carrying on? You can conclude anything you want,
Bruce."

"Dad, if I'm right, you could be heading for lots of
trouble."

"It's none of your business, Bruce."

"Yes, it is, Dad. Mom isn't around to protect you
anymore. I've got to do it for you."

"That is the most presumptuous, asinine thing I've
ever heard."

"Don't get mad, Dad. All I want is for you to face the
facts. Mom hasn't been gone, what six, seven weeks, and here you are ... with
another woman. Really, Dad. Okay, don't get upset. I suppose there are certain
physical needs, even for men of your age. That, maybe I can understand. But
beyond that, Dad, don't get carried away by the physical aspect. Oh, I know the
rationalization about people who had a good marriage and are so traumatized by
the loss of a spouse that they need another replacement mate immediately. I've
consulted some well-known psychologists on that score. Believe me, I
understand."

"You understand shit, Bruce," Sam said.

His conversations with Bruce were getting increasingly
acerbic, but still he couldn't bring himself to cut the paternal cord. It was
Anne who was always the voice of reason when it came to conflicts with his
children. He could still feel her influence. Bruce might have sensed this as he
continued his avalanche of advice.

"Dad, according to these psychologists, grief makes
people irrational. You're not yourself. Can't you see that? It takes time to
get through this. I hate being the bad guy about this, but I feel I owe you
this cautioning note. You're my father and I love you. I do, you know. And
Carol loves you. So our advice is, believe me, separate from the other, the
matter of the estate. I know you're touchy about that as well, but you didn't
work hard all your life for a big slice of your estate to go to some fortune
hunter. It's bad enough that Uncle Sam will take a big bite out of it. Now, I'm
not saying that this woman is out for no good. She may be genuinely interested
in you as a person. But the fact is, you're a very rich man, a mark for any
designing woman. Be real, Dad. Protect yourself. I'm not saying you shouldn't
see other women. Believe me, I'm a man like you, Dad. I know about certain
needs. If that is what you want, then pay for it. Make it impersonal. What I'm
talking about is emotional involvement, getting yourself so wrapped up in a
woman that you can't see the forest for the trees."

"It's none of your damned business."

"I'm your son, Dad."

"Then be my son and stop worrying about the fucking
money."

"You're wrong, Dad. That thought isn't worthy of
you."

"Don't lecture me on the worthiness of my
thoughts."

"You're being irrational. That's exactly the
point."

"Bruce, your father is not an imbecile. I'm not exactly
stupid when it comes to human relationships."

There was no point in arguing. His position, Sam supposed,
made perfect sense from Bruce's perspective. But Sam was still alive, rational
and, despite popular myth, physically vital. Bruce might even be sincere about
his professed love for his father, although Sam doubted that it carried the
emotional weight his son had cited.

Sam supposed that Bruce was no worse nor better than other
children with a wealthy father and a healthy appetite for possessions and further
fortune. This, Sam knew, was the dark side of having money, too much money.

In that context, Bruce and Carol's real agenda had only to
do with his death and thereafter. He had a nagging suspicion that their dutiful
little homilies about love were the expected lip service of grown children. It
wasn't a comfortable presumption, but he could not get it out of his mind that
his own love for his children had more to do with nostalgia for their childhood
and his own youth, for another long-lost, more hopeful time, than present
reality.

It occurred to him that these thoughts were a generational
journey that proceeded through a time-worn passage. He was not the first aging
parent to think them and he wouldn't be the last. Apparently this was the final
stage of parenthood to be endured and clearly the worst, most frightening part
of the process.

"Just in case, Dad, I've drafted a prenuptial
agreement. Don't get mad, Dad. I know you'll think that's also presumptuous of
me. Frankly, I don't expect it to be anything to be seriously considered at
this point. No way is it a reflection of your present state of mind. But it
does give you a sense of how you should be looking at your future estate-wise.
I'll fax it to you...."

"Isn't that a little like putting the cart before the
horse? The idea hasn't even entered my mind."

Of course Bruce was being presumptuous. But wasn't he being
a bit ingenuous as well? Sam wondered.

"All it does is give you guidelines ... just in case.
Something to think about."

"I don't want to think about it."

"You've got to, Dad."

"You're patronizing me, Bruce. The fact is that with
all your education and lawyerly bullshit, you're still a little pisher."

"You're always misunderstanding, Dad. Someone has to
speak up for Mom's point of view. She was an integral part of your success,
Dad. She wouldn't want what you and she have built to inure to the benefit of a
stranger."

Inure to the benefit, Sam sighed. Lawyer talk. It was
starting to depress him.

"In the first place, Bruce," Sam said, though he
had no wish to continue the conversation, "what I do is my business. Not
yours. You know I cared for your mother, loved her very much. She's gone now,
and I have to get on with my life. Yes, I am seeing another woman. Believe me,
she has no designs on my money. She's financially independent, her own person.
She would be insulted by this conversation. Carmen was summarily fired for
almost exactly the same reasons. She did not mind her own business. At this
stage, we haven't discussed anything that remotely suggests those things on
your mind. At some point, perhaps, it will be dealt with. But it's far too
premature. I'd appreciate it if you'd stow it for the time being. I have no
intentions of doing anything hasty or stupid. I never have. I never will.
Frankly, I don't want to hear any more about it."