Olivia (13 page)

"He was so shocked and he kept asking me questions about my high-school life. I just thought some of the boys had spoken to him, told him lies, exaggerated . . ."
"Bragged about making you pregnant?" I asked.
She looked at me.
"Yes, something like that."
"You mean you told him you were pregnant?"
"Not exactly. He wanted to know about my having children. He never talked about children before, so I didn't know what he meant. He said maybe I couldn't have children and I said of course I could. He wanted to know why I was so positive. I didn't say anything, but he . ."
"He's not as stupid as you hoped, is that it?" I asked. She shook her head.
"I don't know. He got so angry at me he just stopped the car, whipped it around and drove me home. He said he had to go off by himself and think things over."
She pouted, her arms across her breasts.
"The nerve of him," she fumed.
"If he loves you as much as you think he does, a little misunderstanding won't matter," I said.
She considered and raised her eyes to me.
"What should I do? What should I tell him?"
"If he calls you and complains, you say take me as I am or don't take me at all. That's what I would say."
"Yes," she agreed, nodding. "I will. Imagine him turning around and taking me back home after promising to take me shopping and to dinner. What am I supposed to do with the rest of my day now? I'm all dressed and I spent hours on my hair and makeup."
"Did you let him know that?"
"No. I should have. I will," she said. "I'm going to call him up and insist he get back here or else."
"It's a nice day," I said gazing at the sea. "If he doesn't come back, just come out here and read."
"Read? Read! I have things to buy. I wanted to get a new cape for my red velvet dress," she whined.
"I'll be here," I said, "if you don't go off to Boston."
She stared at me a moment and then, biting down on her lower lip, her eyes blazing, she spun and marched back to the house.
I looked toward the boathouse. Imagine if Carson got wind of that, I thought. He would probably drive around in circles for days. It brought a smile to my lips. I recalled a quotation I had recently read. "A man falls in love through his eyes, a woman through her ears." Carson McGil was the best example of that, I concluded. Maybe one day I'd have the quotation embroidered on a pillow and send it to him so he could sleep with the wisdom under his head. Men, I thought disdainfully.
I returned to my book, never more content with myself.
Belinda fumed for the remainder of the day because Carson wasn't home to receive her irate phone call and didn't return her call until early in the evening. We had just finished dinner, eating under the atmosphere of a wake. Belinda sulked after ranting about how poorly Carson had treated her. Daddy's face was folded into a deep scowl, his eyes dark, his forehead wrinkled as he brooded. Mother, still having stomach trouble, ate little, whimpered in pain occasionally, and sat with her lips trembling most of the time. Belinda ate even less. Only I seemed to have a robust appetite. I tried building some conversation by talking about the new book I was reading and what a beautiful a day it had been.
"Well, it wasn't beautiful for me," Belinda reminded us. "I spent most of it waiting around a telephone."
"I'm surprised at you, Belinda," I said. "You never let a man run your life like this before."
She glared at me a moment and then blinked rapidly and nodded.
"You're right."
"Oh dear, oh dear," Mother moaned.
"You're disturbing your mother," Daddy warned. It was more like a growl. Belinda returned to her sulking and I ate quietly.
As soon as dinner ended, Mother went to her room, clutching at her stomach. I thought she had a pale, pasty complexion.
"Why doesn't
^-
she see the doctor?" I asked Daddy. He looked toward the door thoughtfully.
"She will. For the moment I think it's just her nerves. This Belinda business," he added with a wave of his hand. Belinda had gone back to her room as well. "What could have happened between them?" he wondered.
"All I know is they had some conversations about her past, Daddy. Carson wasn't happy about it, and she told him more than she had to, I guess. You knew he would eventually get to know some of her indiscretions. People don't keep their gossip under lock and key in Province-town any more than they do anyplace else."
"Umm," he said. "I didn't think any of that would matter once they were on their way to the altar," he muttered.
Suddenly, we heard Belinda coming down the stairs quickly, bouncing on the steps. She hurried to the door of the dining room to announce Carson had finally called.
"Good," Daddy said.
"And?" I asked, seeing a look of irritation in Belinda's eyes.
"He's just picking me up to talk, not to take me anywhere nice. He'll be here in ten minutes," she replied. "I hope he has earplugs because I intend to give him a piece of my mind first."
"Now don't say anything you'll regret later, Belinda," Daddy warned. "A mature person thinks before she speaks."
"I know what a mature person does, Daddy. He doesn't turn around on the way to Boston and decide he can't take me where he promised he would take me, and he doesn't fail to answer my phone calls all day, does he? I think I'm more mature."
"All I'm saying is keep in mind you two are going to be married soon. You have a life to build together and you don't want to go and spoil things now," Daddy advised.
"It's Carson who's spoiling things," she insisted.
I couldn't contain a small smile, but I pressed my lips together so Daddy wouldn't see. Belinda could be pigheaded when she let her pride and her arrogance become her lead horses. In that respect she wasn't unlike many people I knew, even Daddy.
Belinda went to the bathroom to check her makeup. A little while later, Carson was at the door; however, Belinda did not permit him to enter. She greeted him herself and went outside with him, ordering him to drive off immediately.
I went into the den to discuss the work I had done for Daddy that day. He seemed distracted and went up to check on Mother. When he returned, he told me she was asleep, but groaning.
"I don't like it," he said shaking his head. "She has no fever. It's not a stomach flu."
"Don't be the doctor, Daddy. Get her to one in the morning."
"Yes," he said. "You're right, Olivia. You're always right when it comes to doing the sensible things. I wish Belinda had one-tenth of your good sense," he said, "but I'm afraid she was born without any."
Nearly a half hour later, the front door slammed and we both looked up with surprise and anticipation. Then we heard Belinda charge up the stairs.
"What's that all about?"
"I don't know," I said. "I'll find out."
"Come right back and tell me everything she tells you," he said.
I nodded and followed Belinda up the stairs to her room. She had her door closed. I knocked softly and opened it to find her sprawled on her stomach, her head hanging over the side of the bed. She wasn't crying as much as she was fuming.
"What happened?" I asked.
She turned and I saw her face was a shade darker than pink, her lips a bit white in the corners. Her eyes were burning with rage.
"He says that he can't marry me now. He says he spent the whole day thinking about it and he had a discussion with his parents about it and they agree. That's where he was all day, talking to his mother and father instead of talking to me. He wants me to tell Daddy that he'll pay for any expenses we might have incurred up to now. I threw my engagement ring out the window of the car."
"You what?"
"1 just opened the window and tossed it out as we were driving. That's where we've been most of the time. He was out there on the road with his flashlight combing the brush and dirt. He didn't find it," she said with satisfaction. "He said he'll be back there in the morning. I hope he spends the rest of his life looking.
"How could you throw away a ring worth thousands of dollars!' he screamed. I laughed in his face. I said, 'How can you throw away a woman like me just because you heard some rumors and believe some stories?' You would have been proud of me, Olivia. I told him he was a wimpy, wet noodle, a mama's boy and that the only way he would ever get into bed with a woman was if he went to some dark neighborhood and paid a prostitute and then she might reject him anyway,
"You were right. He doesn't really love me, not if he can do this to me. I told him he still owed me a shopping spree and a dinner in Boston and I would send him that bill, too."
"So the wedding is off," I said nodding.
"Daddy's going to be mad about the business, but I couldn't help it, Olivia."
"I'll explain it to him," I said.
"Would you, please? Thank you, Olivia. I'm so lucky to have you as my big sister. You are wise. Thank you for your good advice, too," she said. "Well," she continued almost without a beat, "I guess I should call some of my friends and let them know I'm a free agent again, huh? Can't let moss grow under my feet," she said and went to the phone.
I watched her for a moment before leaving to go down to Daddy. Other women might be
heartbroken and cry all night, but Belinda behaved as though she had simply lost a high-school date.
Daddy looked up from his desk as soon as I appeared in the doorway.
"Well?" he said before I had completely entered the den.
"Carson broke off their engagement. The wedding is off, Daddy."
"I was afraid of that," Daddy said after he sucked in his breath and held it a moment. "Your mother's going to be devastated."
"He told her he would gladly pay any bills you might have incurred. She threw his engagement ring out of the window," I added quickly so he wouldn't wonder if there was any chance of reconsideration.
"She did what? Threw it out the window? Did they find it?"
"No," I said.
"My God. That ring was worth twenty-five thousand dollars, Olivia. McGil was bragging about it to me just the other day.'
"That's Belinda," I said and shrugged.
"She's a madwoman. We'll never find anyone for her now, not after that story gets out."
"Maybe not, Daddy," I said. "Maybe we'll have to face that fact and do the best we can."
"Yes," he said. "Perhaps so." He stared down at his desk and then he raised his tired, sad eyes at me. "Well, I guess I had better put my mind and my energy toward your well-being, Olivia. I'll have a better chance at success."
"I'll be fine, Daddy."
"I know you will. That's my consolation," he said. "But I can't neglect you because she's a failure in every way and in everything I try to arrange for her."
He rose.
"I guess I'll have to go up and break the news to your mother. I might wait until the morning if she's still asleep," he said.
"You probably should anyway, Daddy. Give her a chance to get a good night's sleep so she can recuperate from that stomach problem."
"Yes. Yes, you're right again, Olivia."
He paused in front of me and kissed me on the forehead.
"Good night, and thanks for being my little general," he said.
He was so distraught, I nearly shed some of those tears that had formed under my lids, but they stayed where they were. I watched him leave with his shoulders slumped, his head down. He was so depressed; Mother was sick upstairs, and Belinda was chatting happily on her phone, quite recovered from her dramatic breakup with Carson. In a day it would be as if he never existed.
Yes, I thought, one of these days, perhaps years from now, Carson McGil would meet me. He would nod, maybe take off his hat, and say thanks.
I was as sure of that as I was of tomorrow and the promises Daddy would make to me.

7
A New Beginning
.
Daddy waited until the morning to tell Mother

of Belinda's aborted wedding. She took it very badly and in fact, was unable to come down to breakfast. It was a gray day, the cloud ceiling low and ashen with a stiff breeze blowing out toward sea. Daddy thought we were in for a nor'easter and went out with Jerome to make sure things were securely tied down. Winter had been so mild this year that we were all somewhat complacent. It seemed ages since the last real storm. However, as the day progressed, Daddy's predictions for it became more and more of a reality.

I went upstairs immediately to visit Mother when Daddy informed us she wasn't feeling well enough to come to breakfast.

"She's not hungry at all," he added. "I'll have a cup of tea brought up."
"I'll take it," I said and went into the kitchen to have it made. Belinda had already made plans to spend the day at Kimberly Hughes' home where I was sure she would be joined by her other bubble-gum girlfriends who had nothing to do but hear all about her broken love affair with Carson. I could just imagine the exaggerations and the histrionics Belinda would perform. She really enjoyed being the center of attention. In fact, she was so absorbed in her plans, she barely asked about Mother.
It nearly broke my heart to see Mother pale and teary-eyed, the redness around her eyelids so bright it looked as if some of the rose coloring had dripped off her glasses. Her lips started to tremble as soon as I approached the bed. She reached up for me with her limp, cold hand.
"Olivia, what happened? Winston's making no sense. Why is the wedding off? All the plans we've made, the guest list, the decorations and . . ."
"Please don't permit this to upset you, Mother," I said. "Drink some tea. Get something warm in your stomach."
"I will," she said, "but you must sit here and tell me all you know."
The teacup rattled against the saucer
precariously when she took it from me. She brought it to her lips and barely sipped, her eyes searching my face anxiously for clues as she peered over the edge of the cup. I sat beside her on the bed.
"None of us should really be surprised by these events, Mother," I began calmly. "We've always tried to protect Belinda from herself. We've always tried to keep her sins and mistakes buried."
Mother winced at the word and I stopped, realizing the not so vague reference to the premature infant that lay under the ground in the rear of our home.
"When you keep things hidden, when you lie or leave out all or part of the truth, you always risk being exposed and looking even more dreadful. That's what happened with Belinda. Carson found out about some of her past indiscretions and was upset. Belinda didn't know how to deal with it. She actually told him even more than he knew. She had been pretending to be so virginal and innocent throughout their engagement. The contrast between the illusion and reality probably frightened him away more than anything else," I said. I paused, looked down at my hands and asked, "Daddy told you about the engagement ring?"
"What about it?"
"I hate telling you these things when you're so sick." "I'll be all right. Tell me," she pleaded.
"Sip your tea, Mother. Please."
She forced herself to do so. I saw from the way she closed her eyes and grimaced that even that bothered her. It set my heart to pounding.
"You're seeing a doctor today," I insisted, "even if I have to take you there myself."
"All right, Olivia. All right. You were saying something about that engagement ring?"
"She threw it out the car window when Carson became upset with the lies."
"What? You mean . . ." She shook her head as if to shake the words out of her ears.
"It's gone. He couldn't find it. It's like looking for a certain fish in the ocean."
"Oh dear, dear. What will people think and say? That was such an expensive ring."
"They'll get over it," I predicted, but she shook her head again, this time with slow deliberation.
"No. It will be like the Potter affair," she said. Mother was referring to the infamous story of Helen Potter, daughter of a multimillionaire beer and wine distributor in Hyannis Port who, after she had been engaged to the son of a wealthy Boston builder, was discovered naked in bed with her closest girlfriend. They claimed it was all innocent, but the damage was done and the wedding plans ended. Helen was sent to Europe and eventually disappeared in a myriad of stories, some describing her changing her name and wedding a Hungarian baron, others talking about her becoming a flaming lesbian in Paris and living on the Left Bank. The truth really didn't matter. Her girlfriend went on to become a doctor and live in California, but the Potters became personae non gratae when it came to social events and never recovered. Mr. Potter eventually had a stroke and died with only his wife and servants at his bedside. It had become the subject of gossip and glib jokes, but parents keen about their social status often used the Potter Affair as a threat to keep their sons and daughters within the confines of good behavior.
"It's nowhere near as serious as that, Mother. Everyone who knows Belinda, knows she's impulsive and silly."
"What will become of her?"
"In time she'll find someone else, I'm sure," I said, but not with any real conviction. Mother just closed her eyes and nodded. Then she handed me the cup and saucer. "You need to drink more," I said.
"I'm tired. Let me rest, Olivia."
"I'm going downstairs and getting Daddy to arrange for you to see a doctor or for a doctor to come here, Mother."
"It's just my nerves," she said.
"It can't be just nerves. It's lasted too long and . . ."
"I've neglected something and I'm nervous about it," she suddenly confessed.
I stared, my heart pounding.
"What are you saying, Mother? Neglected what?"
"A while ago I noticed I had a small lump, so small it wasn't any bigger than a pea."
"A lump? Where?"
"Here," she said touching her left breast. "I mentioned it to Doctor Covington in passing and he advised me to come in for an exam, but I . . I just thought it would go away."
"Mother!"
"It hasn't. It's gotten a little larger and I'm just on pins and needles thinking about it. That's why I can't eat and why I'm so tired."
"You're going to the doctor tomorrow," I ordered. "I'm going right down to tell Daddy."
She didn't put up any resistance.
"All right, but don't worry him. It might still be nothing at all."
"As long as you go to the doctor," I said.
"I will."
I rose and hurried down to tell Daddy Mother had agreed to go to the doctor, but I didn't keep my promise. I told him why she was so nervous. He turned pale and called Doctor Covington immediately.
"He says he was after her to come in. My God, she said nothing. I should have been more concerned with her failing health."
"As long as she's going now, Daddy."
"What? Oh, the doctor says it's better for us to bring her to the hospital immediately, especially after what you said about the lump growing larger. He'll check her in and give her tests there," Daddy concluded.
"I'll get her ready," I said and hurried toward the stairway just as Belinda had come down.
"We're taking Mother to the hospital," I told her. She was half out the door.
"Oh, why?"
"She has a lump on her breast. That's why she's been so nervous lately."
"A lump? Why would she have a lump? Ugh."
"Sometimes it's nothing serious, but many times it's cancer," I said.
"Cancer?" She thought a moment and then asked, "What's going to happen?"
"She has to be examined, tests have to be done."
"Oh. Well, what should I do?"
"Do what you think you should do," I retorted and went upstairs to help get Mother ready.
Belinda went to her friend's home, but left word with Daddy that she would call the hospital from there and then come over if necessary. The weather turned bad so quickly, however, we were lucky to get Mother to the hospital. The rain came down in rolling sheets and turned the sky leaden. It was still raining hard when Belinda finally did call. Daddy told her to stay where she was. That, I assured him, didn't break Belinda's heart.
But it really was raging outside. The wind had trees so far bent over, branches cracked. Traffic came to a standstill. The sky turned darker and darker until it looked like an eclipse. Then the rain continued, now falling in shelves of cold, icy drops that splattered against windows and thumped on walls and roofs. Lights blinked on and off. Everyone was scurrying about, agitated by the fierceness of the storm.
Fortunately, Doctor Covington had gotten to the hospital just five minutes before we had arrived, and was there to oversee Mother's admittance.
Doctor Covington had just turned sixty, but still had a full head of what Mother called chameleon hair. In the daylight or bright lights, his hair looked amber, but at night or in subdued light, it looked dark brown. He had been our family doctor for as long as I could remember. A soft-spoken man of few words, he was nevertheless firm and decisive when he made a diagnosis or prescribed a treatment. I remember thinking he had the perfect temperament and disposition for a doctor: confident to the point of being arrogant, but because of that, you felt safe, felt you were in good hands. There was no room for democracy when it came to evaluating health. I told that to Belinda once when she complained about Doctor Covington being too cold.
"He's got microscopes for eyes and a thermometer in every finger," she whined. She was only about twelve at the time, and I thought she was funny. "Stop laughing. He doesn't have blood in his veins. He's got cough syrup."
"You don't have to like him, Belinda. He's not running for any popularity awards. You don't take votes. You listen and you do what he tells you to do."
"I don't like him," she insisted.
"Then don't get sick," I told her.
Doctor Covington wasn't very tall, maybe five feet eight, but I never thought of him as anything but impressive and commanding. He was married and his one child, a son, had gone on to medical school, too, and established himself at a hospital in Connecticut. Mother liked his wife Ruth, but she was a very private person and not fond of following the social circuit. They rarely accepted dinner invitations and had few affairs at their home, keeping most of their guests to his associates and his and his wife's family.
Daddy and I waited in the hospital lobby, trying to distract ourselves and pass the time by reading magazines and occasionally talking with some of the staff. Finally, Doctor Covington appeared.
"Well, Winston," he began, "as it turns out Leonora's problem isn't so much her stomach, but as you now know something she's kept to herself so long. I'm afraid of the consequences. She was afraid too, I believe, and that's what's given her the stomach troubles. I'll run some tests on her stomach, but I'm confident we know the cause. As to her more serious problem," he continued, "unfortunately, she was in denial, refusing to believe it could be anything. I hope she was right. We're going to do a biopsy
immediately. In the meantime I'll treat her stomach cramps. If that's all there is . . ."
"What do you think?" I asked directly. My heart was thumping madly, drumming out a tune of fright in the cage of my ribs, but Daddy seemed unable to talk.
"It's best not to jump to any conclusions without the laboratory work, Olivia," Doctor Covington replied.
"But there is a possibility of it being
malignant?" Daddy finally asked.
"Of course there is. That's why women should never neglect symptoms," Doctor Covington said, gazing more at me.
Daddy made a small moan.
"Let's not assume the worst. Let me do what I have to do to get a firm diagnosis, Winston. We'll perform the biopsy. I've already contacted Doctor Friedman in Boston, a specialist who is a friend and a colleague. He'll confer with me as soon as we have some results."
Daddy nodded.
"The weather's not letting up any. Looks like a rough storm," Doctor Covington remarked, gazing out the front doors. "She's resting comfortably, now. I gave her something to help her sleep. You two might as well go home. Come back later, Winston."
"We'll be at the office should you need us," Daddy said.
"Good idea. Keep busy," Doctor Covington said. "Looks like it's storming on our family, too," Daddy muttered after Doctor Covington left us.
"You heard what he said, Daddy. Let's not assume the worst."
He nodded, but not with optimism in his eyes.
We had a terrible ride to the office, passing two accidents along the way. The storm didn't let up until late in the afternoon. Most of the day, Daddy and I kept busy, but every once in a while, he would stop by my office door and look in to say he hadn't heard anything.
"I guess she's resting comfortably for now," he remarked. "We'll go there before dinner and then we can go to a restaurant afterward," he decided. "Has Belinda called?"
"Not since late this morning," I told him.
"Better she be occupied than in our hair," he said.
When she hadn't called by five, I called Kimberly's house. The phone rang so long, I thought no one was going to answer. Kimberly finally did, but had me wait almost another minute before Belinda picked up.
"I was just going to call you," she said quickly. She sounded out of breath.
"What have you been doing?"
"Nothing," she replied. "How's Mommy? Is she coming home tomorrow?"
"Hardly, Belinda. She's had a biopsy performed on her and they're treating her stomach problem." I explained everything and she was silent.
"Daddy wants the three of us there before dinner and then we'll go to eat someplace in town," I told her. "Can you get yourself over here within the hour?"
"Oh yes. Bruce will take me."
"Bruce? Who's Bruce?"
"Bruce Lester, Kimberly's cousin. He's very cute, but he's only just a high-school senior," she said.
I didn't want to ask any more questions. I was afraid of the answers. She arrived forty-five minutes later and we all went to see Mother. The sedative the doctor had prescribed to keep her calm made her lethargic and sleepy. She dozed on and off while we were there. I saw Belinda was uncomfortable with the sight of her hooked to an I.V. Finally, Daddy decided we should leave.
Once away from the hospital, Belinda rattled on and on about her day, describing her girlfriends, many of whom she hadn't seen for a while. Neither Daddy nor I paid much attention, but she didn't seem to notice or care.
"Everyone thinks I'm better off without Carson. They all say it would have been a disastrous marriage anyway. His mother would have been interfering with everything, giving her opinions, making my life miserable. Things work out for the best sometimes," she chimed.
Daddy stared through her, barely eating his meal.
"Right, Belinda," I said. "You're not enrolled in any school. You don't have any skills to speak of. You have no other prospects at the moment. Things have worked out for the best," I said dryly.
She laughed.
"Don't worry. I'll have other prospects when I want them," she said with so much confidence, it irked me. Daddy raised his eyebrows and then shook his head. "Let's worry about your mother right now and nothing else," he finally declared.
It put an end to Belinda's babbling, for which I was grateful. The moment we entered the house, however, she ran upstairs to get on the telephone and continue her banter with anyone who would listen. I felt sorry for Daddy. He looked so much older and so tired. All my life I imagined Daddy had steel in his bones. No man ever looked stronger or commanded more respect. It wasn't as painful as it was frightening to see him look weak and defeated.