The Saving Graces (17 page)

"Don't be silly. I'll be-" I sat up. "Don't, Lee, I mean it. I forbid it." She didn't laugh. To her credit. She stared at me speculatively for a few seconds. "Okay. I'll call Kirby, then, and he can get it." I said no and started to swear, but she only raised her eyebrows at me and waited until I had to lie down, moaning.

   That's how it came about that I was lying under a blanket on my living room sofa at three o'clock in the morning, listening to Lee and Kirby make polite conversation, and beginning to feel just a little bit better. The interludes between episodes of vomiting had lengthened to about thirty minutes, and I no longer felt so feverish. But I still couldn't drink water, and my reaction to Kirby's innocent, never repeated suggestion that I try a few saltines was predictable. Lee made tea, they sipped it quietly, and took surreptitious bites of something, Oreos, I think, when they thought I wasn't looking. As far as feeling awful went, that night was the worst ever, and yet, unexpectedly, I didn't feel like slinking off somewhere to be alone in my sickness, and I had no interest in being noble and not inflicting myself on others. In fact, I craved company.
Kirby sat on the floor like a yogi, legs crossed, wrists rather elegantly draped over his knees. Beside him, in the easy chair, Lee yawned without covering her mouth, a grave lapse for her, and a sure sign of fatigue. "How long have you lived in D.C.? Kirby-is that your first name or your last?" "Last. Since 1980. My wife and I moved here from Pittsburgh." "Oh, Pittsburgh, I have friends there. Do you know the Newmans? Mark and Patti?" Kirby said no.
"So you're from Pittsburgh?" Lee asked.
"No, originally from New York. Upstate. And you?" "My family is from the Boston area." "..." Pause.
"How did you first meet Isabel?" Kirby asked sociably.
"We used to live two blocks from each other in Chevy Chase. This was back when she was married to Gary. I met her son, Terry, first. On a Halloween night." I smiled fainfly at the memory.
Kirby said, "The first time I saw Isabel, she was talking to the bag lady who used to camp out on the corner by our building. The woman was sitting on the sidewalk, all her possessions piled around her, and Isabel was squatting down beside her so they could be eye-to-eye. Isabel had on a dark green skirt and a light blue blouse and low-heeled shoes. The homeless woman did most of the talking. A couple of times they both laughed. Isabel didn't give her money, but when the visit was over, she squeezed her by her tennis shoe. Gently. I thought the gesture looked very.. . loving." I turned my head to look at him.
"The second time I saw her," he continued in the same low, matter-of-fact voice, "she sat down beside me on the No. 42 bus. At first I didn't quite recognize her; I thought it might be the same woman who'd spoken so kindly to the homeless lady, but I wasn't positive. This time she wore slacks and a brown sweater. And boots. She was carrying an armload of books, textbooks, I thought, but I couldn't read the titles. Her fingers were ink-stained.
"On F Street, she took a tape player out of her purse and put on a set of headphones. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. Her face smoothed out and she smiled. Just slightly. Her hands in her lap went limp. The music was barely audible; try as I might, I couldn't make it out. I had already decided she was perfect, and yet I was filled with a terrible dread that she was smiling beatifically to Megadeath or the Beastie Boys. Imagine my relief when, at Dupont Circle, she opened the machine to turn the tape over, and I saw that it was a Mozart symphony. The G minor." "Goodness," Lee said faintly.
"She got off the bus at my stop, and began to walk down Ontario Road toward Euclid. I followed. When she went up the steps to this building and then buzzed herself through the front door, I wondered briefly if I were hallucinating. A wish-fulfillment fantasy. She saw me-for the first time-from the elevator, and held the door for me. We rode up to her floor in silence. Everything I thought to say to her sounded . . . frivolous. Not important enough for the occasion. The door opened, and then I did say something-I don't remember what; I've blocked it-and she ended up telling me her name. I told her mine. The buzzer warned that I'd held the elevator door too long, and she stepped back and said, 'Well,' and waved good-bye." He stopped talking. The story was over. He didn't look at me, but Lee did, with wide, fascinated eyes.
I sat up. Slowly, I thought. I didn't know what I would say, but something certainly seemed to be called for. But despite my intention, I had moved too quickly. The worst happened-sickness broke over me without warning, and I had time to mutter, "This isn't personal -truly--" before throwing off the blanket and making a mad and extremely undignified dash for the bathroom.
When I returned, Kirby and Lee were talking and laughing with much animation about something else, some completely neutral subject. The loaded moment had passed, and of course that was a relief-and yet, a tender, unused spot in me wanted it back, and didn't care how awkward that would be. I lay on my side and watched Kirby, examined his narrow face, the skin fine and pale over the sharp-boned surfaces, his brown eyes hooded and slightly sunken. I listened while he told a story about his daughter, Julie, whom he'd lost when she was twelve, and as he spoke I saw him patiently, thoroughly, and almost surely unconsciously turning Lee around, from a jealous, suspicious critic to a friend. My eyes blurred, blinked shut, and I finally dozed.
Dawn.
"Both of you, go home." Kirby had fallen asleep on the floor, Lee in her chair. I huddled inside my blanket, shivering in spasms; I wasn't hot anymore, I was freezing.
"Could you drink some tea now?" Lee asked, staggering up, stretching.
I could. A miracle. We slurped tea and didn't talk. I don't know which of us looked grayer; me, probably, but I wasn't going to look in a mirror.
"What a night." I used both hands to scratch my head. "Scalp itches," I explained-then froze. They looked at me uncomprehendingly. I took my hands away. "Adriamycin," I said, trying to laugh. "Complete hair loss in all takers. No exceptions. I'll be bald in two weeks." "Oh, Is." Lee came over and sat beside me, put her arm around me and kissed my head. I stiffened, sensing the start of a good cry. I might have enjoyed that if Kirby hadn't been there.
"Why don't you cut it yourself?" he said.
I looked at him. "Pardon?" "Yes." Lee sat up straight. "Cut it before it can start falling out." "Cut it myself?" I touched my soft, curly hair with my fingertips. "What-now?" "Show it who's boss," Lee said, ruthless excitement snapping in her eyes. "Screw it before it can screw you." "I could shave it for you," Kirby said quietly, watching me. "With my electric razor. We could do it together now, the three of us." I did cry then, but only a little. I cried for the losses in store for me, and for the love of my friends, and because sometimes kindness is as excruciating as cruelty. And-a little-for my hair.

    Lee.
The Saving Graces have celebrated more anniversaries (four) at Neap Tide, my family's cottage on the Outer Banks, than anyplace else, so deciding where to spend our tenth was simple. We left on Friday morning, later than planned because of some trouble Rudy had getting Curtis's car, and then it took forever to get there because Rudy and Emma had to stop every hour to go to the bathroom. They denied it, but I think it's entirely possible they had a flask and were passing it back and forth in the front seat.
"You two aren't drinking, are you?" I asked after the third pit stop. Emma turned around and looked at me as if she thought I'd lost my mind. So-I don't know. I do know they got louder as the day went on, laughing at nothing and singing along to the tapes she'd brought, old rock and roll songs I didn't care for when they were new, and then country songs that were even worse, sung by Tammy Wynette and Dolly Parton and Cod knows who else. I finally had to tell them Isabel was trying to sleep, which was the truth. She took a nap every afternoon now that she was on chemo, and even Rudy and Emma weren't immature enough to disrespect that.
Neap Tide is really Neap Tide II, Neap Tide I having suffered so much storm surge damage during Hurricane Emily that it had to be rebuilt. The new cottage is bigger and has a few more amenities, ceiling fans, another roof deck, brand-new appliances, but in the main it's still as homey and unsophisticated as the original. Nothing, in other words, like the half-million-dollar mansions they're building on the ocean side these days. Henry and I come down twice a year; my parents, maybe once every two years; my brothers, never: they prefer Cape Cod. The rest of the season, my family rents Neap Tide out to tourists.
We were exhausted by the time Rudy pulled the car between the stilts under the long, weathered front deck. Emma had to go look at the ocean immediately, while Rudy and I hauled our stuff (and hers) up the two flights of outside stairs and decided on rooms. I suggested Isabel and I each have a room to ourselves, and Rudy and Emma double up in the third bedroom. No one had a problem with that. After Emma came back and everyone unpacked, we met in the kitchen to discuss (again at my suggestion) meals, responsibilities, and other domestic arrangements. That was when we had our first fight.
Not really a fight-I shouldn't say that. Our first emotional moment. I was explaining why it made more sense to eat in tonight and go out tomorrow (we were tired of driving, we had steaks in the cooler ready to grill), and also suggesting certain tasks that seemed more appropriate for some people than others (Emma, for example, is a good cook but horribly messy, whereas Rudy is slightly less creative but just excellent at tidying up as she goes along)-when Emma, who had already opened a beer and drunk half of it, drew herself up straight and saluted. "Sir!" she shouted like a marine.
Well, I'm used to her not-so-veiled sarcasm, so I let that go. But a few minutes later, as I was trying to organize cleanup shifts for the common areas, the living and dining rooms, the kitchen, the outdoor decks-and I don't apologize for this, it was not officious of me, someone needs to say these things once in the beginning, to prevent misunderstandings later on-Emma made a crack. Under her breath, and supposedly to herself, but we all heard it. It was a reference to my sex life. And who was probably "in charge" of it, me or Henry.
I turned away. Everything went quiet until Isabel said, "Oh, Emma," very softly. I don't know if it was Emma's crack or the gentle disapproval in Isabel's voice, but for some reason I started to cry.
And then I couldn't stop. I kept trying to turn my back on everybody and Isabel kept trying to turn me around. I sat down at the kitchen table and covered my face.
Emma knelt beside me. "Oh, Lee, I'm sorry," she said, "I'm so sorry," with real fear in her voice, and Isabel hovered behind me, stroking my hair. Rudy brought me a glass of water.
I was mortified. "It's the fertility drugs," I told them, "I'm on Clomid and it causes mood swings. I can't help it." "No, it's my fault," Emma said. "What an unbeliev ably stupid thing to say. Lee, come on, don't pay any attention to me." "No, it's me. It's not working, I can't get pregnant, and I feel like such a fool. I waited too long-I'm forty-one years old! It's my fault, and I can't stand it." "It's not your fault," Rudy said, "it's Henry's sperm." "It might not be. The doctor said there might be something else wrong, because it should've happened by now. I think he thinks it's me. And I honestly think Henry is glad! Because it's not just him anymore!" I tried to stop crying because I could see I was scaring them, but I couldn't. And I couldn't stop talking.
"What did I do? Is it something I did? Is this happening because I was too promiscuous when I was young? I had a one-night stand!" I said hotly when Emma and Rudy laughed-even Isabel smiled. "I could have gotten an infection and never known it. And I just had to have an IUD when I was thirty, to make it easier to have sex, and now we know what they can do!" "Lee, this is not-" "If I just hadn't waited so long, but no, I had to have everything perfect, my career, my house, my husband- why couldn't I have gotten married in my twenties? Oh God, it's just that I've always known what I wanted, I've always planned for it and worked for it, and I've always gotten it. And now everything's failing. It's like I'm paralyzed. I can't do anything, I can't fix it." More tears. This was too embarrassing for words.
Rudy had pulled a chair up close to mine. "And it must be so hard for you at work," she said, "being with all those children. I mean, of all the jobs for you to have." "Yes," I said, sobbing, and so glad somebody had finally acknowledged this out loud. Maybe it was too obvious, but for some reason nobody had ever said it before-that me being in charge of a child care center was a terrible cruelty, a trick life was playing on me for no reason but meanness. "It's awful. I don't know if I can keep doing it. It really, really hurts." "Poor Lee." Emma wrapped her arms around my knees.
"It's too much, it's like constant torture, but what else can I do? I could do consulting, I could write articles, maybe a textbook-but it's still-" "It's still children," Rudy said. "Constantly." "Yes, and anyway, what's the difference, even if I was a bank teller I'd still see babies in strollers, babies in car seats, babies being breast-fed in the ladies' room at Nordstrom's. I'd still see mothers buying Pampers at the grocery store, and I'd still read stories about teenagers throwing their newborn babies in the garbage." Isabel hugged me from behind, laying her cheek on my wet one. "Go on, it's good to cry. Do you tell Henry? I bet he's dying to talk to you." I pulled away. I felt ashamed, not worthy of her sympathy, but I still had to say-"I'm so angry with him. I try not to be, I know it's irrational, but I can't help it. I'm on these awful drugs, I've taken a million tests, peed in a million cups, I've been probed and poked and injected and penetrated, and all he has to do is masturbate." I had to smile when Emma pressed her face to my thigh and snorted. "It's true. Deep down, I'm furious with him, and it doesn't matter that it's not his fault, and I know this whole thing is almost as bad for him as it is for me. For Henry, sex is private, and he can't stand this openness, all the questions he has to answer to a lot of nurses and doctors about our personal business. He even said something snotty about the group." "No. He did?" "Not about anybody in it, just that he guesses you all know everything about him, every little secret, and he hates that. And he hates having to go to the clinic and give his sperm, everybody knowing exactly what he's doing. It makes him feel ridiculous. Plus it's his sperm that are making all this have to be, so-" "He feels guilty," Rudy said. "He wants to give you everything, and he feels like he's failing at the thing you want the very most." I nodded. "He won't talk about it, but part of the reason he wants to be a father is to make up for not having one himself. I think a lot of pain from his childhood is coming back. Which makes everything worse." "God," said Emma. "A double whammy." "Exactly." It felt wonderful to get all this out and to be understood and sympathized with. But there was even more I couldn't say. Like my secret wish that I'd married somebody else, anybody else, just so long as he could give me children. And of course I couldn't tell them how bad sex between Henry and me had gotten.
We didn't even do it anymore unless we had to. What was the point? For "passion"? We didn't have any. I felt unattractive and asexual, and Henry felt like a failure. Making love was so mechanical, so self-conscious; the last time we tried, I couldn't climax, and he barely could. I should have pretended, but I didn't care enough. The whole episode embarrassed us so much, we haven't done it since.
"What about counseling?" Rudy said. "What if you both went to somebody and talked about it?" "Henry won't. And I'm not going by myself." "It'll work out," Emma said. "Everything could change overnight, you know, Lee. One phone call from the clinic. One blue stick." "But that's what I've been telling myself for months! Wait and hope, wait and hope-that's what my life has shrunk down to." "Lee," Isabel said quietly, "you never mention the possibility of adoption." "No, because Henry doesn't want to, he wants his own. So do I-so do my parents." "Your parents?" "Wait, now," Emma said, "Henry doesn't want to adopt? He says that?" "Jenny says his father was killed in Vietnam, but the truth is-this is a secret, now-Henry thinks she doesn't even know who his father was. So he-he really wants his own child. We talked about it a long time ago, and we agreed." "Well, but maybe now-" "No. I'm in this, and I'm not giving up. I am going to be pregnant." "But if it's making you crazy-" "It's not making me crazy, Rudy. I'm determined, that's all. I won't be defeated. There's a difference between being crazy and being determined." "Of course, I didn't mean really crazy. Not like me, Lee. You're the sanest one here." "I resent that," Emma said, and we laughed, all of us glad for the levity.
"Oh, enough," I said. I was uncomfortable being the center of attention for so long, plus I didn't want to talk about my parents. I was sorry I'd let that slip-that they want a natural grandchild from me, another little Pavlik to carry on the genius genes. Their attitude embarrasses me; I could already hear what Emma would say about it.
"You're right, it'll work out somehow." I stood up. Everybody fell back, away from me. "It just takes time, and it makes me tired. You guys are great. There, that's my fifteen minutes," I said, laughing, "and I feel a lot better." They didn't believe me, but they stopped hovering around me and started making drinks to carry out to the front deck. It was as if we'd all realized at once that our anniversary weekend was getting off to a dangerous start, and we'd better shift gears before we spoiled it. They would talk about me as soon as I wasn't around, I knew.
"Oh, poor Lee, I had no idea, I've never seen her like that, it was so unlike her." I've never seen me like this, either. I hardly know myself anymore. I want my old life back.