Still Life with Elephant (24 page)

I
WAS
so proud of Abbie. She was my baby. I thought she was incredibly smart, incredibly adorable, and, like my twin nieces, precocious even. I couldn't wait for another family dinner so that I could outdo Kate and Jerry with an honor roll of all her accomplishments. I planned to wrap my life around her, set up a college fund for her, save money for her wedding day, and not let her date anyone until she was thirty and found just the right well-bred handsome Prince Charmephant.

“I don't want to hear another word about Abbie,” Alana warned me. I had spent the whole of our lunch together describing her latest antics. “I have two adorable girls,” she continued, “and I don't talk about them half as much as you do about that elephant.”

She was going to help me shop for the perfect outfit—a dress that I could wear to Reese and Marielle's wedding and then to Bretagne, since we would be leaving for France right after. It had to have green in it, because Marielle had made me the lone bridesmaid and requested I wear something with green, and it had to be versatile—something that could withstand plane rides without wrinkling, keep me cool on warm days, warm on cool nights, suitable for hiking on French country roads, attending fancy dinners, or boating on the Seine, and open like a parachute to save me, should I fall off of the Eiffel Tower. My budget was that small.

“If I were you, I'd be rolling on the floor with
agita
. I don't think you're going to pull it off,” Alana warned me as I pored over racks and racks of clothing. “I mean, a dress that will go to a wedding and spend two weeks in France without getting wrinkled or dirty?”

“What does one wear to the French countryside anyway?” I said. “I keep picturing lavender dirndls and little white aprons.”

“I think that's Switzerland,” she replied. She held up a simple sleeveless floor-length green velvet dress and its accompanying shawl. The shawl had a print of tiny lavender flowers against the requisite green background. “How about this?”

“Perfect,” I said, taking the dress from her. “Wish I could solve all my problems that fast.”

“What other problems could you possibly have?” Alana asked. “I mean, besides losing all your money, your husband, and your home?”

“I could lose my elephant, too,” I said worriedly. “What happens if, while I'm away, Richie realizes that he doesn't need me for Abbie anymore?”

“Then you come back to the therapeutic world and open up your office again,” Alana replied. “There seems to be an epidemic of dysfunction going around, and I have more potential clients than I can take on. I could send some to you. You have to think about getting back on your feet again financially. You really do.”

A few months earlier, I would have immediately dismissed her offer, but she was right. “Maybe it's not such a bad idea,” I said. “I mean, to have a backup plan.”

“Get one started,” Alana agreed. “And don't back out of it.”

 

I had always considered myself genetically an outdoor person. I loved the feeling of sun and wind and fresh air on my skin, had always chafed at the restrictions of sitting in an office, watching the sky through a window. But if I was thinking of reopening my practice, I knew I would have to find space indoors. It's hard to counsel clients with the rain in your face and the wind blowing the papers off your desk. I needed to find an office.

I spent the week before we left for France combing through the rental section of the local newspaper to look for office space. It seemed that all of them were located in neat tan boxes that sat next to run-down shopping centers. Sometimes the boxes were gray.

I finally found one that was different. It was located in a quaint old Victorian house that had been converted into offices. And it was two doors down from a shoe store and an ice-cream store. I asked Alana to meet me in the parking lot and give me her opinion.

She eyed the stores. “Good location,” she said. “I see there are several additional treatment centers available, from those great leaders in psychotherapy, Ferragamo and Baskin-Robbins.”

“I like my clients to have a choice,” I said.

 

A few minutes later, the landlord parked his car and led us into the house, and to a small first-floor office. It had one narrow window, which revealed only the dark-red brick of the building next door.

“This should work,” said Alana, looking around. “You could get back on your feet in no time.”

No sky, I thought, not even a glimpse of one. “Uh-huh,” I said, vaguely.

She put her hands on her hips. “Maybe it's time to cut back on the elephants?”

“Elephants?” repeated the building owner.

“Elephant families stay together for their lifetime,” I said to Alana. “Mother and daughters, and aunts. They keep family bonds. I can't just up and leave; family is very important to them.”

“I know,” she said, exasperated. “But you can fit the elephants into your evenings.”

True, I could spend a few nights a week working with Abbie. And it was a very nice office, clean and freshly painted, with polished wooden floors. The owner watched me nervously.

“And don't forget,” Alana added, “you can still do the horses. On the weekends. Elephants at night, horses on the weekends. Your life will be very full.”

Now the building owner looked worried. “What kind of counseling did you say you did?”

“Yes, I think this office will do very nicely.” Alana started pacing off the floor space to see if my desk and file cabinets would fit.

Suddenly I felt like elephant bracelets were closing around my ankles. I had to escape. I said nothing and walked quickly to the carpeted hallway outside the office. Alana followed me. So did the building owner. I thanked him and headed for my car in the parking lot.

“Just remember,” the owner called after me. “No animals. I don't care how you counsel them. I ain't runnin' a circus.”

 

I watched as Abbie kicked the soccer ball across the grass, squealed with delight, and ran after it. Margo was resting in the shade, a picture of contentment and peace. Peace. I studied Margo's face. The drawn brow was gone, she was in good weight, she didn't seem threatened by us anymore. She had her eyes half closed now, and flapped her ears every so often to move the flies away from her face. Though we had taken her away from her home and brought her to one that was alien to her, she looked content. So was Abbie. Richie would take good care of them both while I was away. I would miss them all, but, truthfully, I was a little afraid that they wouldn't miss me. That my job here was finished. That it was time I called the building owner and rented the office space. I still had the ad in my jacket pocket.

Abbie trotted over to me and wrapped her trunk around my body. She stood past my waist now, and I put my arms around her knobby little head, and rested my face on the top, and pressed a dozen kisses onto her gray wrinkles. She grunted in my ear and pressed against me. How could I give this up? I had never known such peace.

I put my hand in my pocket and crumpled the piece of paper.

T
HERE
IS nothing like a wedding to put you in a cautiously festive frame of mind. I mean, your whole family is standing around looking more attractive than you've seen them in years, wearing their best clothes, and on their best behavior. Laughter is tinkling like crystal, faces are radiant, and everyone is kissing and hugging. They are a study in domestic high spirits.

I had made my grand entrance to Reese's wedding with Tom on my arm, and though I was enjoying myself, I couldn't help feeling that disaster was just one comment away, that someone in my family would mortify me in front of him. That Aunt Lily was going to pat my stomach as usual and say, “Well?,” that Uncle Ray was going ask me again why I gave up my “medical practice” to play the horses, that ninety-five-year-old Great-Aunt Hattie was going to drink too much champagne punch and stand on a chair and sing her signature party song, “Don't Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes,” that all my relatives were going to start openly speculating on where Matt was and why.

Everything you would expect from such a happy, happy family.

 

Tom's appearance created a small stir. Jerome the Gnome recognized him right away from the cover of
Forbes
magazine and apparently put his concerns about my traumatizing the twins by divorce on the back burner. Tom bestowed upon me a respectability that Jerome thought I had previously lost when I closed my practice. Uncle Phil asked Tom to autograph his cocktail napkin and then
mentioned selling it on eBay; my gorgeous twenty-two-year-old cousin, Jessica, got flirty and tried to sashay past Tom and fell out of her four-inch-high Jimmy Choos into the guacamole; Marielle's parents were struck bashful and just stood there, their mouths agape, until Marielle brought them something strong to drink.

We made our way over to the groom.

“Here's a question I've been dying to ask you,” Reese announced, jovially pumping Tom's hand. “What do elephant use for tampons?”

“What?” Tom asked, momentarily taken aback.

“Sheep,” said Reese, and then laughed loudly.

I grabbed Tom away and introduced him to the rest of my family.

“Matt, you sure got gray.” Great-Aunt Hattie's twin, Great-Aunt Ethel, poked Tom in the chest with her forefinger. “You been worrying too much?”

Kate shook Tom's hand and immediately introduced the twins, who needed no prodding to launch into a prolonged demonstration of their newly honed spelling skills.

“Give us a word, Aunt Neelie,” they begged, hanging on me like the baby baboons I had seen in Zimbabwe. “Any word.” I spent the rest of the cocktail hour giving them words and sentences and paragraphs, all of which they dispatched with ease.

“Give us a word,” they begged again and again. “Give us a word.”

“Sound this one out,” I finally said, and spelled “G-i-v-e m-e a b-r-e-a-k.” They decoded it and obeyed.

I finally found my mother, fussing over the food and getting in the caterer's way. Now that she had gotten over not being asked to make the wedding cake, she felt compelled to monitor the freshness of the dinner rolls. I introduced her to Tom.

“It's my pleasure to meet the original Abbie,” Tom said, kissing my mother's hand and doing a courtly little bow with his upper body.

She looked puzzled. “The
original
Abbie?”

I still hadn't told her.

Suddenly the light went on and she turned to me. “Neelie?” she began in measured tones. “Is there
another
Abbie?” She gave me the squint eye, waiting for an answer.

“It's an honor to have an elephant named for you,” I said. “Tom even named one after his mother, and she was thrilled and flattered. Right, Tom?”

“Really?” my mother asked Tom.

“Oh yes. It's the latest society trend,” Tom said. “Everyone is going to want it.”

“Oh,” said my mother, suddenly beaming. “Wait till I tell Evelyn Slater.”

 

It was to be a simple ceremony held under a big white tent that had been erected especially for the occasion, in my parents' backyard. The weather was magnificently warm, Marielle looked radiant, and Reese couldn't take his eyes off her. She had chosen an elegant white off-the-shoulder Spanish-lace dress for herself, and a layered, ruffled purple dress for her pregnant sister, who was her maid of honor, and who unfortunately, when she wasn't blending in with the purple tablecloths, resembled an eggplant. There were festoons of white roses and lavender sprigs pinned to everything that was stationary, and corsages of white roses and purple lilies worn by everyone who wasn't.

We were now gathered outside the tent for the beginning of the ceremony. I was in the lead, as the official and only bridesmaid.

Marielle's mother was behind my parents. She cast a jaundiced eye over the backyard. “I wish Marielle had listened to me,” she said to no one in particular. “A church ceremony and a nice sit-down dinner would have been more civilized.”

“My rose garden is civilized,” my mother responded.

“But where are the roses?” Marielle's mother looked around.

“They're dormant, but they're here in spirit,” my mother replied.

“Getting married in a backyard is just a step up from getting married in the street,” Marielle's father interjected.

“What difference does it make where?” asked my father, taking my mother's arm. “Married is married. It's still a big day.”

“That's right,” agreed my mother. “Their next big day will be their first child.”

“Marielle's just a baby herself,” Marielle's father retorted as he stepped into place next to his wife. “She has plenty of time.”

My mother turned to him. “She isn't a baby at thirty,” she stage-whispered. “Her clock is ticking, you know.”

Marielle's mother leaned toward my mother. “It's her wedding day, Abbie, for goodness' sake,” she hissed. “Clocks don't tick on your wedding day.”

“Clocks don't take time off,” my mother whispered back. The chamber quartet struck up the first chords of
Lohengrin.

“Mother, the music is starting,” I said, suddenly understanding why the bride's and groom's families are seated separately.

The music swelled across the lawn. Tom turned around expectantly in his seat and winked at me. The twins threw petals, and I led the march down the aisle.

 

Marielle and Reese recited their vows, their tremulous voices accompanied by soft music and the ominous buzzing from several varieties of stinging insects, who left their hibernation especially for the occasion.

Marielle's mother wept out loud; her father nervously told everyone sitting within ten feet how hard it was to lose their baby. My parents beamed with pride, and not without a little relief that Reese was finally settling down.

“At least she doesn't have to share her name with some elephant,” my mother muttered during their first married kiss. “I'll bet she saves
her
mother's name for her
children.
”

“I thought you'd be flattered that I named an elephant after you,” I replied, sotto voce.

“Well, high society or not, elephants should have elephant names,” she replied. “Like…” She paused to think.

“See what I mean?” I said. “It isn't easy to name an elephant.”

“Well, I'd know one if I heard it,” she said.

Uncle Ray tapped her from behind. “Abbie? What's this about elephants?”

“Neelie has an elephant,” my mother answered.

“Well, this is what you get when you let your daughter quit medicine and gamble on horses,” Uncle Ray said. “They always start small and then get addicted to the bigger stuff. Pity.”

 

I knew they were going to be happy. They were so much in love. And all their words boiled down to one thing: That they were offering each other the traditional gifts of marriage. Promising to become a universe of two. Promising each other holidays and dinners together, and someone to worry if they got home too late on a rainy night, and 2.6 children in the garage. Promising to enhance each other's lives. Lives very similar to the one I once had—a hundred years ago, it seemed.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I had been on that merry-go-round ride once, and I had been forced to get off when the horses stopped short. True, Matt was offering me a second ride. All I had to do was say yes and grab the brass ring, and everything would be restored. I would have a nice house, maybe a barn in the back. Definitely a swing set. And maybe someday Matt and I would even have a child of our own. I would be a therapist again. Look how the ride comes around and goes around, I thought. A ride without a beginning or end, just an endlessly repeating pattern of love and hurting and love and hurting. And then there was Tom, who was just asking me to enjoy the music.

I touched Tom's arm, and he smiled over at me. A new life, an old life. A new career made out of an old career. There was so much to consider. I closed my eyes.

It seems sometimes you don't have to get back on the merry-go-round for everything to go spinning around you.