Once Upon a Time, There Was You (6 page)

He pulls into a gas station. He’s lucky he and Sadie made it to the airport; he hadn’t realized the tank was so low. Irene never let the tank get lower than one third full, which was ridiculous, but it did prevent them from ever running into trouble. Gas-wise, anyway. While he watches the numbers click higher and higher, he decides his deception has gone far enough. He’ll call Amy and ask her over tonight, and he’ll tell her the truth. He hopes she’ll still want to see him. If not, well, there’s always the group he was meant to go to in the first place. Or he can go back to the ease of solitude. It’s really not so bad, being alone, never worrying about what has to be done for, or with, or in the interest of another. It’s like you let your mind stay in its pajamas all day. What’s wrong with that? The only one he really has to answer to, the only one he owes anything to, is Sadie. Although, as she is fond of reminding him on a nearly daily basis, she can take care of herself.

5

“N
o,” Irene says. “I don’t care what your father says. Your father is not your primary caretaker. I am your primary caretaker, and I do not feel it is safe for you to go unchaperoned with a bunch of kids to spend a whole weekend rock climbing.”

Sadie draws lines with her chopsticks through the black bean sauce left puddled on her plate. “What are you so afraid of?” There is a half smile on her face that does little to mask her frustration.

“Oh, boy. Where to start?” Irene cracks open a fortune cookie, unfolds the slip of paper, and reads aloud: “
Grace falls from unexpected place
. Hmm. Plus how to say ‘thank you’ in Chinese:
x-i-e, x-i-e
. How do you pronounce that, I wonder.”

“I’m really good at climbing, Mom. And I’ll be with even more experienced climbers. I’m not an idiot. I won’t do anything risky.”

Irene sits back in her chair, exasperated. “I just don’t understand this sudden desire to spend so much time climbing! Why do you need to go and hang off the side of a rock? Isn’t life dangerous enough?”

Sadie raises an eyebrow, stares directly at her. Irene knows that now she has said too much. Now she’s moved from what might be seen as reasonable concern into her own neuroses, a bad
habit of hers. Why should she make her naturally athletic and incredibly responsible daughter a victim of her own multifarious fears? Just because Irene would never go rock climbing doesn’t mean Sadie shouldn’t.

An hour before Sadie landed, John had called, ostensibly to brief Irene about his and Sadie’s time together, to offer his usual glowing assessment of their daughter, the one thing they still had in common. But he’d also made a case for Irene letting up on Sadie, and Irene knew he was right. Sadie will be leaving home very soon, going off to live in a dorm at college, and, rather than getting used to the idea of her daughter’s independence from her, Irene realizes she is resisting it more and more. “For everything, there is a season,” Valerie had told her recently, and Irene had said, “Yeah, well, how do you know for sure what the season is?”

Val had laughed. “You look at a
calendar
. So to speak.” Then her face had grown serious and she’d said, “Irene, try to look at this objectively. It’s a good thing for Sadie to grow up! Won’t it be kind of nice to have the place all to yourself? If you want a little afternoon delight, no problem. You can turn on all the lights in the middle of the night. You can play all your music all the time. If you don’t want to shop for groceries, you won’t have to. You won’t have to
cook
.”

“I like to cook!” Irene had said.

“Fine. Make ten thousand cookies to send to the dorm. Irene, Sadie is going to leave you, no matter how you feel about it. Don’t make her feel guilty about what should be a really exuberant time of her life. She’s going to college! Be proud of her! Be glad she’s grown into such a lovely and responsible young woman! She’s ready to be on her own!
Trust
her!”

“Yeah, you can say that, Valerie. Because when your kids went off, you weren’t left alone.”

“That’s true,” Valerie had said. “Still. You’ve always tried so hard to be a good mother, Irene. Don’t stop now.”

Now Irene throws her napkin onto her plate. “All right, Sadie. Go rock climbing. But would you …? I would like you to call me when you get to the top. And then when you’re down again.”

“Mom.”

“I mean it. I don’t care how weird it makes you feel that you have to call your mother. Find a way to do it.”

“Okay.”

Irene signals for the check. She crosses her arms, imagining Sadie clinging to a toehold, having lost her footing, someone above her saying, “Hang on!” Then she imagines Sadie standing up on a bluff, looking out over a view so beautiful it makes her chest hurt. “Maybe I’ll try rock climbing,” she says.

“Yeah, okay, Mom.”

“So … how was Dad?”

“Good. Great.”

“Is he … Is he okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just … generally. Is his work going well? Is he happy?”
How does he look? Is he seeing anyone? Did he ask about me? Did you tell him anything about me?

“Yeah. Dad’s always happy.”

Sadie’s phone rings, and she ignores it, not easily.

“We can go,” Irene says. “Auntie Vee’s coming over.”

“I’m going out,” Sadie says quickly.

But Irene already knows. What else do you do when you’re eighteen, have been away from home for a while, and have just gotten back? Go out again. See your friends. She remembers
some
things.

After they get home, Sadie throws her bags into her room, tells her mother she’s going over to Meghan’s, and all but runs
out the door. A few minutes later, Valerie arrives. “So what’s the crisis?” she asks, and Irene goes into the kitchen and takes down the extra-large martini glasses.

“Uh-oh,” Valerie says, slipping into one of the benches at the banquette. “You said
minor
crisis.”

“Don’s gone back to his wife.”

“Jeez. That was fast.”

“Well, you know what? Actually? Not fast enough.”

Valerie says nothing at first, just sits watching Irene make the drinks. But then she very quietly says, “Are you okay?” and Irene says, “Yeah!” in a self-evident way, as though Valerie had just asked if people had noses.

Irene puts their drinks on the table and sits heavily on her side of the banquette. She and Val clink glasses, and sit drinking, each lost in her own thoughts.

Then Irene says, “I’m …” Her voice is tremulous. “I’m just …”

Valerie nods. “I know.” She reaches across the table to lightly squeeze her friend’s arm.

“And I’ve been listening to Ray LaMontagne.”

“Oh, no.”

“You know the part in ‘Jolene’ where he says,
‘Still don’t know what love means’
? I still don’t know what love means, Val.”

“Yes you do. And haven’t I told you a
million times
not to listen to Ray LaMontagne when you’re sad?”

“Well, in full disclosure, I listened to Lucinda Williams, too.”

“Oh, my God. I hope you had suicide prevention on speed dial.” Valerie’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh. Oh, Irene, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I said that.”

“It’s okay.”

“…  Can I ask you something? Do you ever think about her?”

“My mother?”

Valerie nods.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“What do you think about?”

“I think about a lot of things: how she looked, things she said. Times she was actually tender to me; she used to cut my cinnamon toast into the most perfect little triangles. But mostly I wonder how she felt when she went out to the garage that day. I wonder how it sat in her that she wouldn’t be coming back in. It must have been the loneliest feeling in the world.”

“So you forgive her.”

“Yes. I forgive her. I learned a long time ago that the bargain she must have struck that day was between her and something much bigger than me or my father or the life she lived with us. She was a woman who could neither give nor accept love. It must have made being here awfully hard.

“Anyway. Ray and Lucinda. Ray and
Lucinda
! I like to listen to sad music when I’m sad. It seems honest. It makes me cry, and sometimes a good cry is the only thing that can make you feel better. But you know, it’s not even that I’m sad so much as … I feel like I’m too old, suddenly, for so many things I guess I thought I’d have forever. I’m just, you know,
tired
. You know what I mean? Not in my body. In my heart.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“Plus, I’m a little mortified.”

“Yeah, I know you are.”

“Why do I keep doing this, Val? Why do I keep trying to find someone?”

“Because you don’t want to be alone.”

“Yes I do,” Irene says. “I do now. I’m done. There is no hope. I’m worn-out. Used up. My body is a freak show.” She drains her glass. “I’m having another martini. You?”

“No, I’d better not. I … Oh, all right. Might as well. I’ve
gone this far. I’m starting to lose feeling in the roof of my mouth. Now I’ll have to take a cab home. I hope I get a nice driver and not one of those hostile ones.” She hands her glass to Irene, then says, “And your body is
not
a freak show.”

“It is,” Irene says. “And so is yours.”

“It is not!”

Irene says nothing. Takes a big sip of her drink, then another. Then, “Let me see it,” she says.

“See what?”

“Your body.”

“You’ve seen my body a million times.”

“Not lately. Not for
years
.”

“Well, I’m not showing it to you. Really, Irene!”

“Seriously, Valerie, I need to see another older woman’s body. Compare and contrast. I’ll bet Don went back to his wife because of my body.”

Valerie rolls her eyes.

“Come on,” Irene says. “I just want to see if I’m normal.”

“Fine. You show me your body, and I’ll tell you if you’re normal.”

“How will you know?”

“How will
you
? And anyway, if you want to see naked women, just go to any gym’s locker room.”

“Valerie. I don’t belong to a gym, you know that. Every time I join a gym, I go six days in a row and then never again. I hate gyms. They’re evil. They’re like Las Vegas. I mean, they’re going to win: you’ll pay, but you won’t go. They know that. If everybody who paid went to the gym, there’d be no room. I’ll bet for every person there, there are fifty who never come. Or a hundred!”

“Okay, Irene. Calm down.”

Irene takes in a breath, stares out into space. Then, “How
about this,” she says. “Let’s both take our clothes off and just be really, really honest with each other. Although for you it won’t count.”

“Why not.?”

“Because you’re married.”

“Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I don’t care about my body!”

“I didn’t say you didn’t care about it. But you don’t have to use it. Sexually.”

“Of course I do!”

“You don’t have to use it to
attract
.”

“Again. Of
course
I do.”

“Yeah, but not like I have to.”

Valerie considers this. “True,” she says.

“So get undressed.”

Valerie looks around the kitchen. “You mean … Here?”

Irene goes to the window and shuts the blinds. Then she goes back to the banquette to sit down. Drums her fingers on the table. Raises her eyebrows.

“
I’m
not going first,” Valerie says.

“Well, I’m not, either.”

“It was your idea!”

“Yeah, but you’re married.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Valerie takes another drink, then stands and takes off her top and her skirt, her tights. “I can’t believe I’m doing this! I’m leaving my underwear on. I am not taking my underwear off.”

Irene leans back and appraises her friend. “What kind of bra is that?”

“Chantelle.”

“Nice. Looks like it gives good support.”

“It ought to, with what it costs.”

“I’d pay a lot for a bra like that.”

“So go and get one.”

“I will. But take it off. And your underpants, too.”

“Irene. No.”

“But I can’t see really important stuff!”

Valerie puts her hands on her hips. “Like …?”

“Like if you’d trip over your boobs without your fancy bra or if you’re thinned out down there. You know? I mean, I look positively
denuded
!”

Valerie stands thinking, then clasps her arms and shivers. “It’s cold in here.”

“Only if you don’t have clothes on.”

“This is ridiculous.” Valerie pulls her tights back on, her skirt and top. “I have to leave soon.”

“That’s okay. I saw what I needed to.”

“What?” Valerie slides back into the banquette. “What did you see?”

Silence.

“Irene. What did you
see
?”

“I
saw
, Valerie, that you have no petechiae. Which means I’m not sure we can be friends any longer.”

“What the hell is petechiae?”

“They’re these gross little red spots. Something about the integrity of your blood vessels being compromised when you age. They’re on my boobs and my stomach. Little red spots.”

“Let me see.”

“No. It’s gross.”

“I showed you my body!”

“Some of it.”

“So show me some of yours!”

“Fine!” Irene leaps up and removes all her clothing. “There!” she says. “There it is! All of it! See? I’m horrible. Tell me the truth, I’m horrible, aren’t I?”

“Oh, Irene.”

“What?”

“You’re not
horrible
.”

“Well, I’m certainly not attractive. Am I?” She spins around in a clumsy circle, then, a little dizzy, sits back down in the banquette across from her friend. “Ew. This leather feels weird against bare skin.”

“It’s leather?” Valerie says. “I thought it was vinyl.”

“Oh, right,” Irene says. “It’s fake leather. But it still feels weird.” She stands up and starts to get dressed, hoping Valerie will find something to praise, something that, up until now, Irene herself has not seen, or noticed, or understood was attractive. But what her friend says is, “Sweetheart. This is not the time of our bodies.” Her voice is sad.