Or Not to Be (9 page)

“Are we going to Bi-Lo?”

“Nope. You must’ve forgot, because I know
I told you about the hairnet lady there.”

“Hairnet lady, hmm. In the deli? Is she
the one who wrapped the cheese with the fly in it?”

“Bingo! You do listen. I think she did it
on purpose.”

“Right. She caught a fly and flicked it in
your cheese.” He laughed and summed it up, “So it’s all about the deli, then?”

“Yep. The deli is the bottleneck of this
adventure, so I do it first. That way, if things go bad, I can just leave the
empty cart and walk out of the store.”

He didn’t know yet, but one of the tasks I
planned to assign to him today was the dreaded deli. Dr. Wixim, with his sweet
bedside manner and charm, could run for mayor and win—so I expected the deli
would be no big deal for him.

I parked the car at the side of the lot of
the new, shiny Publix, grabbed Eddie’s arm, and we embarked on our first stupid
market date.

“I’ll take the cart and send you on
errands. Is that okay?” I asked.

“Sounds great. Deli first?” My Eddie. The
man would do anything for me. I nodded, handed him the deli list, and off he
went.

Ten minutes later, I was halfway through
my list when he found me; he was holding a pile of meat and cheese in his arms.
“Yikes!” I said. “That’s a ton of meat.”

“
That’s
what you said to me on our
honeymoon,” he grinned and grazed my hip with his.

“Jerk.” I slapped his arm while he loaded
the cart. “Are you going to eat all of that?”

“That’s what
I
said—”

“Don’t even say it if you know what’s good
for you.” I pushed the cart away, and he trotted after me.

“Hey, this is a date, right? Can’t a guy
flirt with his wife?”

I stopped the cart and stood on my tiptoes
to kiss his cheek. “Of course. Just don’t upset the blue hairs.” I pointed and
whispered, “I think that’s the one I passed on the way here.” They were
everywhere. It must be old folks’ night, when they bus them all in and give
senior discounts. I planned to mark my calendar and avoid this next week.

“We’ll eat it all, Anna. I have a plan.
Sandwiches every day. Chicken salad one night. Pepperoni bread another night.
Omelettes another night. I think we could just about live on produce, deli, and
eggs.”

God, I loved that guy. He handled the
despicable deli and now he was planning meals. Why didn’t I unleash him on the
stupid market years ago? “Sounds great. I already did produce.” He inspected
the bags of fruit and veggies and announced that we needed zucchini, mushrooms,
a purple onion, and fresh tomatoes. And he was off again, this time without my
list.

When he met up with me again, with his
arms full of food, he kissed the top of my head. “Anna, this cart is loaded.
Let me push it.” I was in heaven. Pushing the heavy cart at the end of a grumpy
stupid market excursion was a mood killer even worse than the snide remarks by
the baggers when I demanded paper instead of plastic bags. This date was going
even better than our first date.

That’s when Eddie saw the cookie aisle.
“Ooh, Anna, let me look around.” He got that same glazed-over look that
blanketed his features in a hardware store. The same one I probably wore in a
bookstore. Eddie in the cookie aisle was a beautiful thing.

I don’t eat cookies, so I rarely buy them.
I’d rather bake them. Eddie loves all cookies, quite possibly as much as he
loves me and the kids. He didn’t even check the coupon pile. He didn’t even
look for sales. He couldn’t decide between chocolate and oatmeal so, like a
little kid, he grabbed both and hugged them all the way to the checkout.

It became our thing during my last summer.
Our date night. Eddie would escort me to the grocery store. He’d deal with the
deli, push the heavy cart, and help pick food for meals. After a month of such
excursions, I suggested he just take over and let me stay home. Let me mow the
lawn or something. He shook his head slowly, his serious eyes locked on mine.

“No, Anna. That’s the point. If I did it
alone, I’d hate it as much as you do.”

He was right. Even grocery shopping was
improved by his presence. That equals love. Now, from my front row seat on the
dead side, I watch as, once again, Eddie is tossed into my path. My Eddie: the
collection of atoms that comprised the saddest and best parts of my life. If he
only knew how much I loved him. Always loved him. The most. He was my best
friend, my center, my compass, but he left me at the end of my life. He pulled
away from me and took my heart with him, leaving me empty before I even died.

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Eddie is driving my car
with my seat pulled all the way forward and his
thighs hitting the steering wheel. He pulls into the parking lot of the
Shop-N-Stop. As he walks in, he reaches into the back pocket of his baggy, old
man jeans and pulls out a list. Where did he ever get a list? Eddie is not a
list maker.

He pushes the cart at turtle speed, bent
over like it hurts to walk, drifting through every aisle and studying the food
in wonder. He keeps looking up and down at his list.

He grabs whole milk instead of skim.

Chunky peanut butter instead of creamy.

American cheese instead of provolone.

Things are going to change without me in
charge.

With half a cart of preserved food, stuff
we never eat, Eddie just wanders aimlessly around the store. I ache to be with
him. To touch the soft hair on his forearm, kiss his stubbly cheek, and breathe
in the musky smell of him in a hug. All I can do is watch him and let the pain
burn down. In the cookie aisle, he leans over the cart, looking like he might
pass out, when he sees the Oreos.

I feel a strong tug to listen to Eddie’s
thoughts, but my own are chaos. Swirling. Too many painful options present
themselves, trying to pull me in. They flash by and force me to watch my life,
the life I used to have, as it flows forward in time. Without me. I resist with
a newfound energy. I push back on the force, exerting a will that I didn’t know
I had. I leave Eddie alone in the stupid market. Alone with his pain.

12

Back in my kitchen
, Bethany washes a mountain of dishes. She has
occupied my space, the place where I was always found. Her bare feet stand
exactly where mine always did as she sloshes around in the hot, sudsy water. My
stained, yellow apron is tied loosely around her pencil waist. For the first
time since she came home from college, I can hear her from the dead side.

Mom, I’m trying.

And Mom? I’m sorry. I guess I always
knew it wasn’t only your fault when you and Daddy fought. It was hard to be
caught between you two, though. Easier to side with him.

I watch her dry and put away all of the
dishes and pans. She even wipes down the counters and the sink. Just like I
would, if I was there. This from a girl who left her dirty clothes on the floor
wherever they landed at the end of every day. Then she blows her nose on the
dish towel and tosses it on the counter before walking out the back door.
That’s my girl.

| | | |

I looked for every opportunity
to try to get Bethany to talk to me
more. It was tough, but she was so depressed after that bastard football player
showed his true colors and broke up with her. I saw my chance and dove in.

“No,
Mom, you do not understand.” Bethany dumped a third scoop of sugar into her
coffee. It was two weeks before her high school graduation and one week before
prom, almost noon on a Sunday, and she’d just emerged from her bedroom.

“Oh,
honey.” I tried to hug her. She pushed me away.

“Who
ever broke up with you?”

She
was right. I didn’t date enough to suffer a break up. Eddie was my first, last,
and only real relationship. In my daughter’s eyes, I was lucky. I got it right
on the first try. She considered me an overachiever.

“There’ll
be other boys, Bethany.”

“You
see?” she yelled. “You don’t know anything! Nobody wants to think about the next
guy when one just hurt you. That doesn’t help at all.”

“What
I meant was—you’ll survive this.”

“I
don’t even want to, Mom,” she wailed. “I just want to die.” She slammed her
coffee mug on the table and stormed out the kitchen door into our garage. I followed
right behind her, afraid she’d get in the car and drive herself into a wreck.
She wasn’t a great driver even when she wasn’t sobbing.

“I’m
sorry, honey.” She leaned against the side of the car in a crumple, her
forehead on her crossed arms, her face hidden. “What happened, anyway?”

She
spun around and grabbed her hair in two fists, holding the newly cut ends in
bunches. “This happened. Billy broke up with me because I cut my hair.”

Oh.
He was an ass as well as a buffoon, then. I was not surprised, but at least I
had the tact not to say this out loud. Men and hair—what woman could comprehend
that twisted puzzle?

“So, I’m furious,
Mom. You were right, okay? He’s an ass and an idiot, and he didn’t even care
about me. But talking about it with
you
makes it hurt even more.
Can’t you just go away without saying ‘I told you so’?”

I
held my ground. No way was I leaving her like this.

“Then
I’ll go away,” she said and left the house for a long walk.

Late
that night, I was drawn like a bug to the line of light under her bedroom door.
I knocked. I just wanted to hug her, I swear. I wasn’t there to lecture or pry.
I just wanted my baby girl, who was almost grown up, to know that I loved her.

“Go
away, Mom.”

“How’d
you know it was me?” I asked the closed door.

Her
muffled voice, sounding just like when she was little, answered, “Joey walks
in. Daddy waits for me to come out. You’re the only knocker.” Silence. I was
dismissed. I knocked again, trained in persistence long ago by her father.

With
a heavy sigh, she yanked open the door. She stood before me, blocking my entry,
chin up and eyes defiant above her red and swollen nose. Mascara hung in black
shadows under her glassy eyes. Her blue sparkling prom dress looked lovely on
her petite frame, even with the toes of her bunny slippers peeking from the
hem.

I
sighed, my gaze locked on her toes. When I looked up at her and opened my mouth
to speak, she raised her palm to me, Eddie-style, and insisted, “Do not say,
‘Oh, honey,’ or I will lose it again, Mom.”

I
opened my arms and waited. She hesitated a tenth of a second before she dropped
her eyes from mine and stepped into my hug. And she lost it again anyway.

| | | |

Now
Bethany sits alone
, with my planner, the map and chronicle of my life, in her lap. She
shakes her head and frowns.
Mom,
how the heck did you do so much? I think my life is crazy, but you never took a
rest. Kinda scary, but it looks like life could get even harder. College is
kicking my butt. How will I survive life after it? I don’t see how I’m going to
get through all of this without you for backup.

Bethany flips
through the daily pages of my October, the last full month of my life.
Mom, I only saw you once last month. I wish I could’ve
come home from school. You didn’t answer most days when I called. I didn’t know
what was going on with you.
She’s crying a little now, wiping her eyes on the
corner of the blanket. She leans back on the swing and closes her eyes, hot
tears leaking out.
Mom, I’m not
ready to do this alone. Daddy is a mess. Right now he’s pretty useless. I’m
totally running the show around here and I’m just not qualified for the job.
I’m going to have to go back to the dorm and my classes sometime, but how can I
leave them?

Oh,
honey. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you the last couple of months.

I
couldn’t face anyone or even cope with daily conversation while I was crushed
by my fear that Eddie was going to leave for work one day and not come home. I
was so consumed with my own agony, I could hardly breathe.

What
would I do if he left me? If I held my breath and stayed quiet, would the funk
pass again? Would he come back to me again? What would it do to our kids if we
split up?

If
I’d known I had only until early November to see them all, I would have found
more time.

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