Pam of Babylon (9 page)

“Thank you for offering, but really, I’ll be fine. I don’t drive, so I will take the train and then a cab.”

“Okay,” said Pam, hiding her disappointment. She was hoping that they would have a better opportunity to talk in the comfort of the house. They walked in the direction of Jack’s apartment.

“You don’t have to walk me back, Sandra,” Pam said. She stopped and turned to face her, having to look up to see her face. “I enjoyed being with you today. It is the first time in twenty-four hours that I felt relaxed.” She dug through her purse and came up with a pen and a grocery receipt and started scribbling her address on it and then added her cell phone number. “If you get stuck or can’t get a cab, call me. I’ll send someone to pick you up from the station.”

Sandra took the scrap of paper from her. Then she bent over to kiss Pam on the cheek. Pam stood on her toes. Sandra felt genuine affection for her.

“Thank you, Pam. Thank you for validating me. I don’t deserve it, but thanks anyway.”

They said their goodbyes and then parted, Pam walking east one block to Madison and Sandra going south toward 79
^th
. She would walk across the park.

As she walked along, Sandra felt a moment of rare and unexplainable joy. Her boyfriend was dead, she had a job she hated, both of her parents were dead, and her sister couldn’t stand the sight of her.
So what is going on
? Having lunch with Jack’s wife was probably one of the strangest experiences she could have had at that place and time, but it left her with a feeling of contentment. She would have to think about this for a while, figure out how to make this moment last.

Everything was green in the park. The trees full and lush. The freshly cut grass smelled wonderful. Children were playing, running after each other and throwing balls, while couples sat on blankets and read the Sunday
Times
. She and Jack never did that. She couldn’t think of a Sunday they had spent together. She had her own routine on the weekends and didn’t mind that he was unavailable. She didn’t miss him now.

She’d have to take Tuesday off for the funeral; the whole office would be there. She didn’t think of that. Suddenly, she wanted, or rather, needed, Pam Smith. She needed to talk to her. Turning around, she ran up Fifth Avenue to the cross the street to Madison. She turned the corner just as Pam was walking into her building.

“Pam!” she called. “Wait!” Not caring if she looked foolish, Sandra ran toward the building. Pam walked back out onto the sidewalk.

10

M
arie was in a quandary. On one hand, she was happy her sister was adjusting so wonderfully to the news that her husband was screwing some tramp and then dropped dead without being able to explain himself. On the other hand, she was furious that something was going on and Pam wasn’t including her.

When she got up that morning and found the note, she knew right away that her sister was going to the city to see Sandra. Angry, she felt left out, unappreciated. If Pam only knew, if she had known what Marie saw Saturday morning she wouldn’t be so damn accommodating to Sandra Benson. She had to pull herself together, she was being irrational. It was moments like this that destroyed families and relationships. She mustn’t lose control. She must try to understand her sister and show her some respect.

She poured old coffee down the drain, rinsed out the pot, and filled it with fresh water. Her favorite routines would help pull her out of this mess. The kids needed her to be strong. Making coffee and busying herself in the kitchen would be a panacea to madness.

None of the food gifts looked appetizing, so she would bake muffins. When the family got up, when Bill and Anne came in, she would prepare whatever kinds of eggs they wanted. In the meantime, she would fry bacon, too. Those aromas would surely get everyone up. If she were surrounded with people, she would have purpose. Then the fears that were tormenting her, fears that she would no longer be useful in this house, would abate for a while.

She took flour, eggs, and butter and measured out the correct portions, washed a quart of fresh blueberries to add. Greasing muffin tins drove the demons back. Pouring the creamy batter with soft, juicy berries into the tin, Marie began to relax. The smell of the coffee made her mouth water.

Once the muffins were in the oven and the timer was set, she poured herself a cup of coffee, suddenly grateful for the morning solitude. She decided to hold off on cooking the bacon. She took her coffee out onto the veranda. The rain had stopped for the time being. She wiped the chair down with a kitchen towel. A freighter, probably loaded with trash, was visible in the distance inching along toward Staten Island.
What am I going to do now?
She never felt so alone. Being needed had filled a void so big and so obvious that now she almost couldn’t bear it. She set her cup down on the table and put her face in her hands. Whispering, although no one was up yet and there wasn’t anyone around to hear her, she prayed, “God, please take me, too. Please don’t leave me here.”

Pam left Manhattan at four. She would be home in time for dinner with her family. Right before she left the apartment, she called home, Marie answered the phone laughing. She was playing cards with Lisa and Brent and Sharon’s family.

Marie confirmed that everyone would still be there when Pam got home and told her to drive safely. Pam was glad Marie was okay, worried that going to the city without inviting her to come along would have been an issue.

She turned the radio on and switched the tuner until something familiar came on. It was Vivaldi. She didn’t want to think about the day while she was driving. Traffic was horrendous, and the music helped her to stay focused and keep up. At the speed everyone was going, she would get home in record time—if she didn’t crash first.

When she pulled off the expressway the back roads were deserted, a sign that Sunday dinner was being served. She remembered the weekend before. Jack had stopped at the farmers’ market in town on his way home from golf. He got freshly caught flounder and the makings for a salad. They prepared dinner together, grilling the fish out on the veranda. Pam made a huge salad and opened a bottle of wine. They sat outside until the sun disappeared behind the house. The sky was clear that night, and the stars were so bright you could see them all the way down to the horizon.

Jack had said, looking at her, “I never want to forget nights like this.” It was as close to a confession of love that she got from him for months. When he said it, icy prickles shot down her spine. She wanted to ask what made him say it, what was going on, but she bit her tongue. In her usual way, she thought,
Take this at face value. He is saying that he loves you. Everything is okay.

But of course, it wasn’t. He didn’t try to make love to her later, and when he left for Manhattan early the next morning, she didn’t wake up and he didn’t wake her. The alarm went off at seven and she sat up with a start, immediately looking at his empty side of the bed and feeling an overwhelming sadness. She had no idea that it would be the last time he would be by her side, that she would never see him again.

She remembered to ask Sandra why she thought Jack had had a premonition that he would die. Sandra said that it wasn’t anything specific, just that he kept making references to not having regrets, to doing things you wanted to do because it was all over so soon.

Pam wondered if that was one of the reasons he had been unfaithful. He didn’t want to regret not doing it. But that didn’t make any sense. She supposed she would never really know what he was thinking. She would just chalk it up to what Sandra said—bad judgment. She said they were getting bored with it, and Sandra suspected that he was thinking of ending it.

When she pulled up to the house, the lights were on, and it shown like a jewel in the dusk. Other cars were blocking the garage, so she parked in the driveway. She could hear the waves hitting the beach when she got out of the car. She loved this house, the area. Her love for it transcended her pain and grief. It was a dichotomy she couldn’t explain—how the tragic death of her husband could be made tolerable by the love she had for her life. It was not something she would share with another.

Tonight she would have to socialize. Her sisters—Marie and Sharon and now Susan, having just arrived from Connecticut. The flurry of activity in the house bothered her. Everyone was talking all at once; there was nothing solemn, no respect for the dead. An unfinished board game out on the kitchen table, so dinner would be served in the dining room. Pam couldn’t remember the last time they used it. She tried to squelch her concern about the Battenberg tablecloth. Now was not the time to be miserly. She put herself in neutral and allowed everyone else to make the decisions.

Earlier in the day, Sandra had helped her regain some feeling. Instead of the on again–off again emotional roller coaster she had been on, she was able to express her grief and stay in that mode for several hours. When Sandra left the second time, they had both cried for the man whom they had loved and who loved them. Now, back in her house, Pam was thinking a little numbness would be helpful. She wasn’t in sync with the jovial atmosphere in the house, yet didn’t want to be the one to stop it. And she was getting a headache.

She put her handbag down and went into the kitchen. Anne was tossing a salad and Nelda was there, slicing corned beef on a platter. She looked at her daughter with concern.

“Dear, how are you holding up?” Nelda asked. Fortunately, Lisa didn’t ask how her day in the city went.

“I’m okay Mother, just tired I guess.” She walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek. “I think I’ll go right to bed after dinner if you think you can get along without me.”

“Pam, if you want to eat alone, I’ll fix you a tray and you can take it to your room.” Anne said, nodding toward the den. “Things got a little out of hand today. It’s all the children, I think.”

“I would love to eat in my room, but I doubt if I can get away with it.” She took a loaf of rye bread and a platter of sliced vegetables and walked toward the dining room. “I wish there was a little more recognition that someone in this house has died,” she said loudly, surprising even her. If the parents couldn’t control their children, she would make sure they knew she didn’t approve. She heard shushing sounds, and the TV was turned off. The sisters came out of the den.

“Pam, we didn’t hear you come in. I am so sorry about the noise. Forgive me?” Susan leaned over and gave her sister a peak on the cheek.

“Hi, Suz,” Pam said, acknowledging her sister. “How was your trip?”

They exchanged pleasantries, avoiding the obvious, until Susan said, “I’m so sorry about Jack! I just can’t believe it.” Then Susan hugged Pam.

Pam gave up. She succumbed to Susan’s hug, to her outpouring of sympathy. In front of her family for the first time, she began to cry. She pulled out a chair from the table in her formal dining room, moving the plate aside so she could put her head down and have a good cry.

It provoked silence. The men turned away and the children gathered closer, wanting to see their Aunt Pam for themselves. Too young to understand, they wondered what it meant when someone you loved had died. The smallest child Ava, Sharon’s youngest, put her arms around Pam’s waist. The touching act of kindness brought a smile to Pam’s face. She lifted the child up on her lap. Nelda came in then and told everyone to sit down.

Sixteen people squeezed in around Pam’s table meant for twelve, but it was okay. They made corned-beef sandwiches and had potato salad, coleslaw, beet salad, and chocolate cake, thanks to Marie who went on a baking binge that day.

“Can we talk later?” Marie whispered to her.

“Sure, but can it wait? I’m beat.” Pam could only imagine what Marie had to say. She needed to be well rested for whatever argument they might have.

“Tomorrow then.” Marie said. “I love you, Pam.”

That evening after dinner, everyone went his or her separate ways. Pam’s sisters and their families, except for Marie, went to the bed-and-breakfast with Bill and Anne. Nelda and Bernice stayed at the house. Lisa and Brent got into bed with their mother and watched TV while she dozed, until the news came on at 11:00 p.m. They kissed her good-night and went to their own rooms.

Pam stood in the window, looking at the surf as it hit the beach, the moonlight exaggerating the foam on the white caps, the stars brilliant in the inky black sky.
Tomorrow will be a day to be gotten through
, she thought, as she could feel it coming. If possible, she would spend much of the day in her room, alone or with her children. Only home for a day, they were already starting to show the strain of too much company. Finally, she fell asleep after midnight.

11

T
he next morning, Pam didn’t get up until nine. She rarely slept that late, but it felt okay. No one had disturbed her; the family was allowing her some privacy. She did her usual morning routine, dressing in a soft velour running suit, probably too warm for later in the day, but she needed the comfort now. Tiptoeing out into the hallway, she could hear distant voices and smell the aroma of coffee. There was no one in the kitchen. Through the french doors leading to the veranda, she could see the source of the voices; Nelda and Bernice were sitting and talking together, with the sun filtered by the vaporous netting that surrounded the seating area. She quietly poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the counter. Looking out over the sea, her mind went blank for the moment. If she could have this measure of peace for the remainder of the day, she would be thrilled. The coffee was rich and hot. She got up to find something to eat with it and was not disappointed. It looked like more food deliveries had been made that day, with three bakery boxes stacked on the counter. The first one she opened contained a deadly looking cheese danish.
Oh, what the hell
, she thought. She took the biggest one and placed it on a plate. Marie walked in then.