Slow Dancing (5 page)

Mary continued to visit Margaret weekly, trying to mollify Frank, and it helped, he softened toward her again in spite of the gossip she’d started, until she showed up at the riverside cottage one night.

“Mary, you know this would never work,” he said. But she was determined, wrapping her arms around his neck, nuzzling his neck with her lips, and going straight for his crotch.

“Please, I need you Frank, and I can feel you want me,” she said, discovering he was aroused, but he shoved her hand away seconds after she tried touching him.

“Mary, my wife is still alive, and my child is right inside the house. This would never work,” he repeated.

The final blow came by telephone call in the early morning hours; Margaret had died of unknown causes. Boyd hinted that Frank should take legal action against Hallowsbrook since they couldn’t determine the exact cause of death, stating natural causes on the death certificate in spite of the coroner hinting at suicide with a vague substance overdose as the source when he added
possibly self-inflicted
.

“What the hell does that mean?” Boyd asked. “Frank, you need to take a stand.” Faye Baker, the ADA wouldn’t even talk about opening an investigation unless the family was in agreement.

“Her death certificate says natural causes,” Frank said. He didn’t need another hobby, following the course of a lawsuit. And it wouldn’t be fair to Ellen, who agreed secretly with her father that Margaret was at peace at last no matter how she died. Rarely talking openly before, they continued skirting the issue. The pain was simply too intense for Ellen.

After Margaret’s hospitalization when Ellen was five, she ceased to be a parent. All Ellen needed was Frank who provided for her, protected her, guided her. He was a
real
parent. She may have called him Frank to his face, but he was dad to everyone else. “My dad” or “my father.” Frank had the purest intentions of any human being she’d known. He was incapable of being negative, at least in her presence. “Don’t even ask my dad’s opinion,” she’d say. “He’ll only look at the bright side.” When Margaret died, it was a relief.

“Now don’t be surprised if you still mourn,” Frank said. Ellen knew all that, but once she allowed herself to feel the sadness, she realized it was sadness that her mother was incapable of being a mother to her, her illness making her the most self-absorbed, selfish person imaginable. She even attempted to counsel Margaret.

“Mother, perhaps if you tried to focus on somethin’ else, somethin’ other than yourself, you’d feel better.” But of course, Margaret wasn’t able to do so; she’d looked at how everything related to her and how it made
her
feel for so long that it was all she was capable of. Ellen’s challenge made her retreat further into herself, at least when her family was around. Ellen confessed how she felt to Frank, and it was during the visit Frank told Ellen Margaret had always been insane allowing the word to be spoken out loud for the first time. He wouldn’t say more than that at first, but slowly over the three months since she’d died, he opened up to his stepdaughter about what his life had been like, falling in love with a lunatic.

Chapter 5

Alan Johnson sold cars in Saint Augustine, the number one used car salesman four years in a row. Corporate even took notice. Summoned to Galveston to head up the sales team there, “I’m gonna teach those Texans a thing or two about the way we do it here in Florida,” he said, bragging. Margaret looked the other way to hide her smirk; she was so sick and tired of Alan’s boasting about promotions and raises, advances and at-a-boys, yet she never saw evidence of it. She worked fulltime in a secretarial pool, paid her own bills, loaned him money with promises that he’d pay her back, and then she got pregnant. It was a shock; she’d been sexually active for years, never took a precaution, and never got pregnant. What was different now? She thought the difference was that, confronted with the possibility to finally be free of Alan, she’d be bound to him for eternity.

Trying to break up with him was impossible. He just wouldn’t be alienated. They’d started dating a year before; he was very attractive at first, tall and built, jet-black hair that he confessed he dyed to hide a shock of white across the front, like a skunk. “It’s a birthmark,” he said. “My mother has the same thing.”

His cocky attitude was barely tolerable and until the incessant bragging began that never seemed to result in anything real, Margaret thought she could deal with him. She never saw a paycheck, wasn’t even sure he really worked. They didn’t live together because she wisely resisted it, refusing to have him over for even a night. Within a month’s time Margaret also made the decision she would not introduce him to her friends; they would hate him and she didn’t want to be put in a position of being his defender.

When he was about to leave for Texas, her period didn’t come. She didn’t tell Alan; not sure it would have made much difference anyway, and she didn’t feel any obligation to him. After he left, the long phone calls began, saying he was getting a place for them in Galveston that he’d send for her as soon as he got settled, but he never did and he never sent her a dime. The money she’d lent him became an icon; the phrase
life would be easier when Alan repaid her
peppered her inner dialogue, conversations she had with herself when the fear of caring for a newborn overwhelmed her. She’d given Alan most of her savings and now the possibility that she would lose her job loomed large. Looking the other way as the pregnancy progressed; her boss did what he could for Margaret. It was after the delivery that would be the problem because her company didn’t make allowances for maternity leave; it was not mandatory in the state. Faced with losing her apartment just as she needed to care for another human being, her solution was to downsize and move from a two bedroom to a studio apartment. Chances were good she’d never entertain a man again, certainly not overnight.

For the next eight months, she saved every cent she could and sold anything of value she had, including her television and radio. Only her bed, table and chair in the kitchen and a rocking chair in the living room remained, and her car, a used Buick LeSabre with seventy-thousand miles on it. But soon, the place filled up again as friends brought by their cast-offs. Her coworkers gave her a baby shower and she received everything she needed to care for a newborn.

Nine months went quickly. Mildly nauseated at dinner the night she went into labor, she forced herself to eat soup and crackers, just in case. Hearing about women who went without eating for days while they were in prolonged labor, Margaret didn’t have any extra weight in reserve. At bedtime, she brought a cup of tea, a package of cookies and a book into bed and the last time she looked at the clock, it was well after midnight. At about two, she woke up with a stomachache. She went into the bathroom to brush her teeth deciding she’d get ready to leave and if it was a false alarm, at least she’d be prepared for the day. But it wasn’t false, it was the real thing. By three, she was keeping track of the contractions, leaving for the hospital before they got so bad she’d be unable to drive.

The car park was a block away, but her suitcase was small so it wasn’t bad walking to the emergency entrance. When a wave of the contraction came, she stopped and put her hands on her knees breathing through it. Just as she got to the ER reception desk, her membranes ruptured, sending a flood of amniotic fluid cascading down her legs. She leaned on the desk and looked down at the puddle she was standing in. “Lovely.”

Ellen Marie Fisher was born the next day at two in the afternoon. Labor wasn’t that bad after all, Margaret decided. Once the barbaric part of it was over, the evacuation of anything left in her body, the sewing up of parts too small for the stretching they’d require, it was sweet, lying on the delivery table with all eyes upon her as she held her newborn daughter for the very first time. Nursing Ellen was not an option for Margaret. She wanted her body back as soon as possible; wanted her life back. When twenty-four hours were up, she was ready to leave. Lying to the nursing staff, she said a friend was picking her up, and when they wheeled her out to the front entrance in a wheelchair, insisted she’d wait alone. When she was sure it was safe, she walked the distance with a newborn and a suitcase to her parked car and drove home.

Getting used to mothering was easy for Margaret. Ellen was a built-in friend, a little companion, guaranteed to amuse and entertain. Wherever Margaret went, Ellen went with her. When she was two weeks old, Margaret started taking her to work, the thought of leaving her with a sitter too frightening. “Now don’t make a peep,” Margaret told her. Walking into the office with the infant in a little plastic chair, she stashed Ellen under the desk with her diaper bag, picking right up where she left off before the birth. During breaks, the baby came out of hiding and got her bottle and diaper change. By Friday, her boss came up to her desk with a smirk on his face.

“So, I hear we have a new employee. Can you introduce us?” Margaret pushed her chair back and reached down for Ellen who had both fists up to her mouth.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” Margaret explained. Her boss scratched his head.

“I’m afraid of setting precedence,” he said. “And I’m sure not every baby would be as quiet as this one.” Margaret was terrified he was going to tell her to leave. She imagined the scenario; cleaning out her desk, walking out to a car that very well wouldn’t start, having to take the bus to the welfare office, paying for formula with food stamps.

“Please don’t make me leave,” she pleaded.

“No, no, I’m not going to. But I need to figure out something else. It’s not fair to; what’s her name?”

“Ellen.”

“It’s not fair to Ellen to have to spend the day in the dark under a desk, like a leprechaun. We can do better than that. Give me the weekend to think about it.”

The following Monday, Margaret was directed to take Ellen to a room down the hall from the office. A nursery with one other child was in place, waiting for Ellen. It was as ideal as it could be while it lasted. Before Ellen’s second birthday, the company was sold and Margaret was terminated along with many of her co-workers.

Desperation set in. The only thing she could do was ask Alan one more time to pay her the money he owed her; over ten thousand dollars.

“Come here to Galveston and I’ll see to it you get your money,” he said. Although the few friends who knew she’d been with Alan figured he was the father, most of them didn’t know Ellen’s paternity, but they’d encouraged Margaret to file for child support from whoever it was. Doing so would alert him that he had a child and he might insist on sharing custody. The idea that he’d be entitled to taking Ellen terrified her. While she still had a little money and her unemployment about ready to expire, Margaret made the tough decision to go to Galveston and confront Alan. He didn’t need to know Ellen was his; she was small enough to pass for an eighteen month old.

“How can I be sure you’ll keep your word?” she asked him. “It’s a long way there. I’ll be using the last of my cash.” She didn’t add, “Thanks to you.”

“I’m crushed that you have so little trust in me. What did I do to deserve it? I thought I took good care of you while I was there.” The allusion was sexual in its undertone and the hair on her arms lifted in gooseflesh. Had she really been that needy to succumb to him?

“Whatever, Alan. All I know is that you asked me for a loan which I freely gave, trusting you completely when you said it would be repaid. I’m unemployed, broke and desperate. Maybe you could send me money to get there.” He was silent on the other end of the line.

“I guess I could do that; send you a little something.”

“If you did, I might be able to trust you again,” she said.

“Send me your bank account info and I’ll make a deposit,” he said, suddenly hopeful. But she was on to him.

“I had to close my account,” she lied. “Just send a money order. I can get that cashed anywhere.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, trying but failing at hiding his disappointment.

But the money order never came and before she had to pay her rent again, she loaded up the car, buckled Ellen in her seat and headed west. She didn’t put a lot of thought into what she was going to do once she got to Galveston. But thankfully, she never had to worry again. Frank took care of all of their needs.

***

After the date, the leftover-café-turkey-dinner, drive-in movie date, Frank and Margaret knew they would be together. He dropped her off at Mary’s house, and before they walked up to the door together, the sleeping Ellen on his shoulder, he asked her to marry him.

“I know it’s ridiculous, asking this fast. But pretty much what you see with me is what you’re gonna get. How long do we have to wait to make it seem less ridiculous?”

Margaret laughed. “We don’t have to wait at all, if you don’t want to. But maybe we should, just for Ellen’s sake. Don’t want her growing up with people talking about her folks getting married the week after they met.”

“Okay, how about a month? Will you marry me in a month? Your car should be fixed by then, at least,” Frank said, teasing.

“Yes, Frank. A month sounds very nice. Let’s get married in a month. I wonder if Mary will let us stay here for a whole month.”

“I don’t see why not,” Frank said. He didn’t want to warn Margaret not to tell Mary too much of her business. It might appear he was worried about her knowing too much of
his
business. He decided a little information might be a good thing. “You probably figured it out that Mary is the town crier.” He looked over at her, the corners of her mouth turning down.

“I wondered. Thanks for the heads up.” She reached for Ellen. “Thank you for tonight. It was very nice getting out.” She stood on her toes and kissed him gently on the lips. It startled him for a second. He’d been anxious, worried about the right time to hold her hand, the best time for a kiss.

His lips were soft and dry, and she could feel the bristles of his whiskers, long past five-o’clock shadow. After they said goodnight he fell to thinking about
her
lips, how soft and warm
they
were. Her breath was nice, too; chocolaty from the milkshake. He didn’t allow himself to think more because they’d be married in one month if everything fell into place. Dreaming, she would come to the little house and share his bed and the little girl would grow up in the bedroom across the hall from their room. He’d drive into Beauregard to get new bedding; shopping in the village was out of the question; the raised eyebrows and comments infuriating. It was none of their business.