The House on Olive Street (29 page)

“Hurry up,” Beth was calling. “Come on.”

Beth was already oohing and aahing in the kitchen. “I don’t understand,” Barbara Ann was muttering, “how they could have done it.” The places where the wallpaper was peeling had been patched up. The scuffs and scars on the molding and floorboards had been sanded and stained. The floor shone; the countertops sparkled; the glass twinkled. Where were the dirty dishes? The cereal boxes? The rotting food? There was a new throw rug on the kitchen floor; it was clean and had been recently vacuumed or shook. There was a note on the counter.

Billy to Bobby. Or Bobby to Billy.

“This is how,” Beth said. “Look at this. This is incredible.”

There was a chart on the side of the refrigerator, so large it took up almost the whole thing. There was a list of chores longer than a dead snake; there were five names of those responsible—Dad, Bill, Bob, Joe, Matt.
There were days of the week. Some of the chores had to be done every day—dinner, shopping, empty d/w, load d/w, trash, mirrors, k.floor, l.room, water front, water back. Some things were done Monday, Wednesday and Friday—fridge, vacuum, dust, glass, bathrooms, towels. Some things were reserved for the weekend—mow, edge, trim, prune, garage 1, garage 2, pool, patio. And some things were listed for every individual—room, laundry, iron, drawers, closet, sink, toilet, car.
Drawers? Closet?

“Unbelievable!” Beth said. “Isn’t this wonderful?”

Barbara Ann couldn’t absorb it. She was still reserving judgment until she saw their rooms, the garages, the backyard. She wandered from room to room, from house to yard, from yard to garage….

The entire house was freshly painted. New throw rugs were laid down in the bathrooms and laundry rooms. New mold-free shower curtains were hung. The deck was freshly stained and weatherall applied. The pool shone in algae-free sky blue. The backyard was cut, trimmed, weeded and landscaped. There were two new pots of flowers on the patio; the patio table and chairs were scrubbed clean. Shelves had been built in both garages; particleboard was applied to the walls, and tools and yard equipment neatly hung there. Bikes were suspended from ceiling hooks and the garage walls and floors had been painted.

The boys’ rooms were immaculate. Billy’s bed was unmade and someone had left a T-shirt on the bathroom floor, but Billy and Joe both had to be at the golf course by 5:00 a.m. Jeans were folded and stacked in space-maker shelves in the closets. The shoes sat in neat rows. Drawers were perfectly tidy—to the extent that a box of condoms was tucked neatly between the socks and
BVD’s. The blinds were all open, letting the sunshine flow in and there wasn’t a speck of dust on the blinds. The grout in the shower stalls and around the toilet was scrubbed white—or perhaps replaced—and for the first time in Barbara Ann’s memory, there was not the slightest hint of the smell of urine.

Beth was fluttering from room room, gasping, exclaiming, calling out—“Barbara Ann, you have to see this!”—but by the time Barbara Ann could catch up, she was already skittering on to another room.

When she went to her bedroom, she felt like crying. The bed was made, the bathroom mirror sparkled, the towels hung neatly on the rail, the toilet bowl glistened, and all of Mike’s clothes hung on their hangers. She picked through the shirts—ironed, every one. She finally came across one that had a huge scorch on the back and it caused her a hiccup of emotion. She lifted the lid on the clothes hamper and saw maybe a day’s worth of unlaundered clothes. Barbara Ann sat on the end of her bed, tears running down her cheeks. That’s where Beth finally found her. When Beth saw that she was crying, she knelt before her.

“You must be so proud of them,” Beth said in a reverent whisper.

“Oh sure, but that’s not why I’m crying,” she said.

“Then why, for heaven’s sake?”

“Do you know that if they left for a week and I spent every minute of that time scrubbing and polishing, I could not have made it look this good?”

“I saw the house today,” Barbara Ann told Mike on the phone later that day.

“Oh, honey, you should have
told
us! We wanted to be ready for you! We wanted to give you a tour!”

“Well, I was so impressed I almost fainted. Mike, it
looked positively wonderful. I can’t imagine how you did it. More than that, how did you have the
money
to do it? All the painting and landscaping?”

“Oh, that. Well, I did something I should’a done a long time ago, but since I never had to struggle with the bills like you did, I never thought about it. I sat down with the boys one Saturday and we went over every dime. We studied every bill. We got rid of a couple a things, things we could do without. Bobby doesn’t put five slices of cheese on his sandwich anymore. We look things up in the phone book instead of calling directory assistance. Stuff like that. And then for all the supplies and new stuff around the house—we all pitched in. Bobby brought home stuff from the nursery with his discount. Matt handled most of the paint, but everyone contributed something. Bill and Joe pitched in a little where they could, but they’re part-time at the golf course so they did a lot of the work. The boys haven’t had many nights out or friends over. They haven’t been spending their money on toys or car parts, I can tell you that. And we all worked real hard. We worked harder than we’ve ever worked. No wonder you walked out on us, Barbara Ann. You should’a done it years ago. I can’t believe we left all that on you.”

“Even I never got it that clean,” she said. “How in the world did you do it?”

“It was hell, honey, I’ll tell you that. It was like going to basic training all over again. Barbara Ann, are you coming back to us? If we promise to keep it up?”

“Yes, Mike, I can’t wait. But I’m going to finish the book with the girls and help close up Gabby’s house. Then I’ll be home.”

“How long is that going to take?”

“Ten more days. We’re closing up the house on
Sunday night, August twenty-second. You and the boys will even be invited to our last big bash before we give up the halfway house for crazy women.”

“Ten days? Ten days?”

“It’s not that long. And I’ll be glad to go out for a drive with you before then,” she said, followed by a wicked laugh. “I think I’m going to miss that—our sneaky little sessions. It made me feel like a kid again.”

“My back is killing me.”

“Mike, really, I don’t know how you got it that clean and perfect. When I come home you’ll have to show me some of your secrets.”

“I’ve got quite a few things I want to show you when you get home,” he said. “And not much of it has to do with housework.” And he growled into the phone, sending shivers down her spine.

They never did tell her what really happened. They all tried to clean the house. Not one of them was stubborn about it. They wanted her back so bad they were sick inside—and not just for the work she did for them. They just wanted her home again. But they couldn’t get the house clean. Things kept going wrong. Laundry turned funny colors; soapy water left streaks; wiping down the walls took the paint off; cutting the yellowed, tangled grass only made the yard look like a dirt patch. That didn’t even speak to the food situation—and this was a household that loved food. Bobby cooked them a turkey one day and served it too rare—and they all got food poisoning. They ate out of boxes and bags until they were weak. They were dying, for one thing. And they were making no progress, for another, which meant they might never get Barbara Ann back.

Mike was telling one of the guys he worked with about his problems. Well, the guy was a retired Marine
Master Sergeant. He’d spent years whipping barracks and grounds and young men into shape. He’d even done some time as a base housing-inspector. He knew things about white-glove inspections that Barbara Ann had never heard of. His name was Chuck Mackie and for years the boys would say, “Make it Mac,” for make it perfect.

The first two weeks of following Mac’s instructions almost killed them. But then they started to see results. Mac showed up at about eight every evening for another inspection and a new list of chores. On the weekends he worked them like dogs. He was having the best time he’d had since leaving the Marines. Pretty soon Mrs. Mackie came around to give some simple cooking instructions; they were going broke and getting sick on so much pizza. She gave them laundry tips and taught basic ironing. Mike was so proud of himself when he could finally iron a perfect shirt…in forty minutes. Then Andrea Mackie said, “Imagine this—first off, you’re going to get a grade on it. Someone’s going to say, ‘Can’t I even get a goddamn shirt for work around here?’ Second, there are two children hanging on your legs while a third is aiming a crayon at the wallpaper. Meanwhile, something’s boiling over on the stove, and the washing machine is walking. That should speed you up. Oh, and did I mention? Your period is also late.” Mike learned to get his perfect shirt down to seven minutes.

Perhaps it was cruel, but Mike, Matt, Bob, Joe and Bill wanted to keep their Basic Training in Housekeeping a secret. They wanted Barbara Ann to always believe that it was sheer, devoted love that had driven them to such excellence.

Because really, it was.

E
lly was on the phone in her room, talking to London. Barbara Ann was at her word processor. Sable was with Ceola in the kitchen, chopping tomatoes for a lunch salad. Then the screaming started.

“Nooo! Nooo! Oh, God, Oh, God. Nooo!”

Barbara Ann got there first; she had been the closest. By the time Sable, Elly and finally Ceola arrived at the bathroom doorway, Barbara Ann was kneeling on the floor, holding Beth in her arms. Beth was sobbing into Barbara Ann’s shoulder. She was wearing a cotton T-shirt, sitting on a bath towel. Her shorts and panties were inside out on the floor in front of the toilet, soaked in blood. The toilet water was bloody; there was blood streaking the toilet seat and splattered inside the bowl. And Barbara Ann was saying, “It’s all right, it’s all right. You’re going to be all right.”

“Oh my God, the baby,” Sable whispered.

“Should we call an ambulance?”

“Probably not,” Barbara Ann said. “Beth, we have to see how heavy the bleeding is so we know what to do. Beth? Honey?”

“What’s happened?”

“Barbara Ann, should we call the doctor?”

“What’s going on? What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s having—or just had—a miscarriage. Beth, can you tell me what happened?”

“I had a stomach ache—a hard pain. It felt like I had to go to the bathroom. It felt like I couldn’t make it to the toilet. There was a huge gush of blood out of me. Oh my God! The baby!”

“Beth, how many weeks along are you? Can you tell me?”

“I don’t know. Twelve or so. Twelve or fourteen.”

“Can you stand up, honey? Can we see how much you’re bleeding?”

Beth was shaking almost too hard to get to her feet, and had to use the sink counter for support. When she was standing, Barbara Ann wiped Beth’s bloody thighs with the towel. She wet a corner from the sink and washed away the bloodstains. “Do you feel that pain…or that urge to use the toilet anymore?” Barbara Ann asked.

“No. I mean, my tummy feels tender. Crampy. But not urgent.”

There was the merest trickle of blood running down the inside of Beth’s thigh. She asked Beth for the name of her doctor, then turned to the women in the doorway. “Sable, call Dr. Morlene’s office. Tell them that Beth is miscarrying—she may have lost it in the toilet. The bleeding was very heavy for a few minutes, but has slowed down to about that of a normal menstrual flow. Ask them where we should take her—office, emergency room, whatever. Elly, find Beth some panties, shorts and shoes. And go to my room and get a sanitary napkin out of my top drawer. Ceola, go to the kitchen and get me some kind of small container with a lid. A Tupperware bowl, maybe. And a spoon with holes in it.”

“What are you going to do?” Elly asked her.

“I’m going to clean Beth up, get her dressed to go to the doctor’s office or hospital, and then I’m going to find out if she lost anything in that mess or if it’s just blood. She’s going to need a D&C, probably.”

“You’re going to dig around in that toilet for a
fetus?
” Elly asked, horrified.

“It’s what you do, Elly. Now go on. Let’s take care of our girl.” The women went off about their tasks and Barbara Ann turned back to Beth, who was holding herself up by leaning on the sink counter. Her weakness was from fear and shock, not blood loss. Barbara Ann knew all about this. It had happened to her once. After Billy. “Okay, honey,” she said, running water and wetting a washcloth. “Let’s get you cleaned up a little and put some clothes on. You have to go to the doctor.”

Beth went to the outpatient surgical center across the street from the hospital. No one would be left behind; Barbara Ann drove Beth, and Sable accompanied. Elly and Ceola followed a few minutes later in another car. The nurses who met them at the door were very calm and unhurried as Beth gingerly transferred herself from the car seat to a wheelchair. Barbara Ann presented one of them with a square Tupperware container holding a few impressive clots.

“Having some trouble?” one of the nurses asked.

“The baby,” she whimpered. “I think I’ve lost the baby….”

“Dr. Morlene will be here in just a few minutes to have a look. Let’s get you into an examining room. You’re going to be fine now.”

“My baby,” she wept.

“It’s all right, dear. It’s all right.”

All right? Sable thought. Didn’t they know how much a woman could want the baby she was carrying? Didn’t they have any idea that this was more than just a heavy period? This was a death in the family, for God’s sake! What did they mean, moving so slowly, being so friendly and sweet, and giving her that bullshit about it being
all right?

The women waited for an hour. Then they were told that the doctor felt it necessary to perform a D&C and that Beth would have to stay there, lying down, for two to three hours before she could be taken home. But there were no complications and she was going to be fine. The women, the nurse said, might want to go out to lunch. Or perhaps they could go home and one of them could come back later to pick up Beth and drive her home.

“And the baby?”

“She lost the baby quickly and cleanly.”

“That was a fetus in the Tupperware?”

“No, no, just some clots. She aborted spontaneously during the doctor’s examination. It was a typical, uncomplicated miscarriage. She’s going to be just fine. She may feel a little tired for the next couple of days and she’ll have some bleeding, but she’ll be fine. And the doctor told her there’s no reason she won’t be able to conceive again, and carry a baby to term.”

“I can think of a couple,” Sable said.

They were not interested in going out to lunch. Or going home, sending one of their number back to transport Beth. They all stayed in the surgical center’s waiting room. They hardly spoke to each other. Elly had to go outside often, of course, where there was an ashtray at the entrance.

Two more hours had passed when the doctor came to talk to them. He said basically the same things the nurse
had said. He’d like to check Beth in six weeks. And one of them could go help her get dressed.

Sable looked immediately toward Barbara Ann. “Go ahead,” Barbara Ann said. “You’re not going to settle down until you see her.”

Beth was sitting on the edge of her bed, dangling her feet, her hospital gown open down the back under her long dark hair. Her head was bent as though she was looking at her feet. And idiotically, Sable’s first words were, “It’s going to be all right.”

Beth turned her moist eyes to her friend. “Maybe I’m not meant to have children,” she said.

Sable sat down beside her. “How can you come to that conclusion at this point in your life? You have another ten years for childbearing. Maybe more.”

“I’ll never get married again. It was only an accident I married Jack.”

“A bad accident….”

“I never met men. I never dated. I never knew what to say…or I said something stupid. I’ll end up being the old maid aunt in Kansas City. I’ll sit in some little apartment and type and only go out for family functions. I’ll—”

“That’s enough of that. What are you doing here—setting yourself up to be lonely? Beth, you’ve just spent seven years with a man who didn’t want you to have any friends. He kept you as isolated as he could so his power over you wouldn’t be threatened. You don’t have to live like that. You can change that pattern. Go out, meet people, enjoy your life—children or not.”

“It’s so hard for me to make friends,” she said softly.

“But those friendships you’ve made have been strong. Enduring. We’re not the only friends you have. You knew a lot of the writers at Gabby’s memorial.”

“Women,” she said. “I’m okay with women.”

“Look, you have four brothers and three sisters in Kansas City. You graduated from high school and college there. You know the town, you know more people than you realize. You—”

“I just wanted to have a baby. That’s all I’ve ever really wanted.”

“I know, I know. But you’re going to have to change your life, Beth. Look at me,” Sable said. She had to physically turn her to get her attention. “Maybe this was for the best.” The moisture in Beth’s eyes grew thicker. One tear spilled over. “You deserve so much more than this. You deserve to have a child that isn’t linked to Jack Mahoney, for one thing. It would be hell fighting him for years and years to come. Now you can make a clean break from him and his abuse and start over. Start fresh.”

“I could have started fresh with—”

“I know, I know, but listen to me for a second. It was really no way to have a baby, you know? You snuck it out of him and planned to take it away and raise it alone. If you think your life is going to be solitary typing speckled with a few family parties, then what kind of life is that for a child? Were you going to make your child as reclusive and shy as you are?”

Beth blinked and tears ran down her cheeks.

“I don’t think having a child without a father present is necessarily a big tragedy—lots of single moms do smashing jobs of raising kids. But growing up with a mom who doesn’t want to meet people, or go out, or take those social risks…that would be sad. You’re going to have to change that. You’re going to have to overcome some of that terrible shyness. You sure as hell aren’t shy once you know someone. I heard you tell Elly you thought she was a lesbian.”

“It just takes me such a long time. It’s so hard for me.”

“We all do hard things. That’s life. What’s the old saying? Pain is mandatory—suffering is optional. You’ll just have to find a way to do it even though it’s hard. Ask your brothers and sisters to include you in social events with their friends. Join a couple of groups. Do some volunteer work. Take some courses.”

Beth hung her head. She had surely read this much in Dear Abby. Undoubtedly, she had heard all this from her mother when she was a single, twenty-four-year-old virgin.

“You have to stop giving yourself so many negative messages. You have to stop saying ‘I’m so shy’ and start saying ‘I love people.’ You can be lonely forever if you want to, or you can change this about yourself. Beth, you’re doing a very sad thing to yourself. I would hate for you to do that to your children, when you have them.”

“When,” she said tiredly.

“Well, I’m not very wise about things like this,” Sable said. “But I do know one thing for sure. I got everything in life I ever thought I should have. If I just believed I should get it, that I deserved it, that I needed it to validate who I was, then I got it. That’s what I know to be true.”

“I don’t really want all that success and money and fame,” Beth said.

“I wasn’t talking about just that,” Sable said. “I was thinking further back. Like when I was getting punched in the chops.”

A few days after Beth’s miscarriage, Elly emerged from Gabby’s bedroom wearing a summer suit. “I have to leave for a while, I have a few errands that can’t wait, but I’ve invited company for dinner. A gentleman who has an interest in Gabby’s works. Would you all be so kind as to tidy up and lay a decent table?”

“Who, Elly?” Sable wanted to know.

“You’ll find out at five. Let’s have drinks and hors d’oeuvres.”

She left the room and them.

“Now that’s a strange one…Elly with a surprise?” Barbara mused.

“She hates surprises,” Beth added.

“It must be important if she’s playing this out,” Sable said.

Throughout the afternoon they speculated—agent, publisher, critic, academic? But none of them was even close. At 5:07 the doorbell rang and the only woman in residence who didn’t rush to that portal was Ceola.

Sable, Barbara and Beth stood in the opened door, regarding the handsome young man who stood there, and as a trio they gasped and covered their mouths. For all intents and purposes, Gabby’s late lover, John Shelby, stood on the stoop.

“That seems to be the only reaction I ever get from this house,” the young man said. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “Todd Shelby. John was my father.”

And they let out their breath as one.

The clopping of Elly’s shoes on the walk came up behind him. “Gave you a start, did he?” she asked. “The Shelby men must come from a strong gene pool. Well, let’s go inside.”

First over drinks and then over dinner, Todd Shelby told them the rest of the story. They knew the beginning only too well—having lived inside Gabby’s book throughout the summer. But they didn’t know the end, and the end was what they were struggling with.

“I was a boy of eighteen when my father, whom I secretly worshiped, returned to London from Ireland
that last summer of his life. He wasted very little time getting reacquainted with the family before he called for a conference, a family discussion. My mother, Jane Shelby, seemed to have already been informed of my father’s request for a divorce. Together, they settled down to tell me and my sister.

“I was devastated by this,” Todd told them. “I hated him thoroughly. He was painfully honest about the entire, sordid mess. He said that he and Mother hadn’t had much of a marriage, really, and that while they were good friends and had the utmost respect for one another, there was no romance in their lives and it was time, now that we children were adults and capable of understanding adult issues, that they separate, divorce and move along with their lives.

“That Mother seemed at peace with this was horrifying to me. And it made no difference. I couldn’t
comprehend
that Mother would be pleased to be divorced. It never occurred to me that perhaps she was glad about it. I saw my father as the most awful cad. He was crushing us with this terrible news. Children don’t really care whether their parents have romance. What good’s romance on the old folks anyway? They’re supposed to perform their duties as parents, stay together amicably no matter what troubles they might have to endure, and pretend…at the very least
pretend
that all is well.

“If it wasn’t terrible enough that my father was bringing this embarrassment on our household, he had to go still further and explain that there was another woman. A woman he loved. An American writer, of all things. Younger than our mother. And by implication, more beautiful, more daring, more of everything. He actually wanted to marry her! It wasn’t enough that he’d obviously been sleeping with her, he wanted to make an honest woman of her.”