Maternal instinct, p.14
Maternal Instinct, page 14
Althea didn’t mention that another name for a first edition these days was just ‘used book’, and how easy it was to find them given the fact that all used booksellers posted their products on Amazon. But it was a good effort, and she said so. ‘Very thoughtful, sweetums,’ she said, and put the book on the floor next to her chair. Robert obligingly moved aside.
Fiona was much more lavish than the others, perhaps to make up for Grace’s lack. Among other things, Fiona gave Shyla her first smartphone, with an index finger that stressed how strictly Shyla should adhere to any rules her parents laid down.
All in all, Althea was satisfied with the reaction to her gifts, for what Fiona beat her in quantity Althea won in quality. Grace opened her scarf last, vibrant colors in an art nouveau geometric print, and if she didn’t recognize precisely how good it was, and respond with sufficient effusion, Fiona filled the gap by widening her eyes, dropping her jaw, and expressing wonder at Althea’s taste. Perhaps a little too much wonder? Had she not thought Althea was capable of selecting the best of something?
‘It’s from MoMA,’ Althea said.
Fiona nodded vigorously, though cluelessly.
‘The Metropolitan Museum of Art,’ Althea said. ‘It’s a Frank Lloyd Wright pattern.’
And Shyla seemed to appreciate her new blouse. ‘Thank you, Momya,’ she said.
‘I think it will make the most of your looks,’ Althea said. ‘Teal is the universal color and you could use a little something with ruffles. It’s more feminine.’
Shyla said thank you again.
While Grace got the dinner on the table with Shyla’s help, shooing away all other offers, and Althea sat in her usual chair at the table to stay out of everyone’s way, Fiona wandered around with her third (fourth?) glass of wine. She stopped at Gonzo’s crate, which was still sitting there. She stared at it, but had the good sense not to speak of it.
Grace put the scalloped potato casserole on the table and went to Fiona, adopting that head-to-head posture and doing the whispery face thing that indicated one of those rude moments when you’re telling secrets in public.
‘Something,’ Grace said out loud but vaguely, as if to squelch more talk, and then, ‘Come to the table, everyone. Shyla!’
Dinner was as good as the presents had been. Beef Wellington, courtesy of Fiona and one of those online companies that send food ready to be baked and served. But Grace made an effort with the sides. They passed around the scalloped potatoes (made from a box), asparagus spears (they could have been cut into smaller pieces but at least they weren’t canned), the best rolls money could buy, and a Caesar salad with real dressing rather than bottled. Althea nodded her approval at the anchovies. Then they passed things around again, chattering and eating at the same time. Shyla used her fork as if to honor the occasion. But then she could hardly pick up her slab of Beef Wellington and gnaw at it, so maybe she hadn’t a choice. Althea didn’t even mind so much that in her usual place at the end of the table she was a bit marginalized. The food was good enough and the conversation adequate.
It wasn’t until dessert that Fiona dropped her bomb and finished destroying Althea’s Christmas.
They were sipping coffee, having scraped the last smidgen of pumpkin pie and chocolate grasshopper pie off their plates. Now this, this was good, Althea thought. Hal had baked them at home, from scratch went without saying, and the aroma had taken Althea back to when he was young and still honing his skill, and he and she had loved each other without anyone else to get in the way. Everyone had a slice of both, though Althea suggested that the crème de menthe in the grasshopper pie might not be appropriate for Shyla.
Shyla rocked back in her chair, pretending to be drunk. Grace shot her a warning glance which would have to do, though Althea would have given her a verbal reprimand. Who knew how Shyla was influenced by the drinking?
‘Alcohol bakes off,’ Hal said.
‘What does that mean?’ Shyla asked, sober again.
‘Nobody makes pie the way you do,’ Fiona said. ‘What is it with your crust?’
‘It’s all about the flour I use,’ he said. ‘You can only get it in bulk quantities. Closest you can come at the grocery store is Swans Down cake flour. Then, instead of the few tablespoons of Crisco most people cut into the flour, you use a ratio of one to one, so fifty percent of the crust is pure lard. You can’t even work with it immediately, it’s too soft. You have to refrigerate it for twenty-four hours before you can roll it out for the pie pans.’
Althea observed that the other three people at the table stared at Hal without hiding their amazement just as she did. Maybe it had occurred to no one except Althea until now that he had scarcely said a word all day, moodier than the scythe-bearing ghost of Christmas future. She knew she was more sensitive than the others, and had picked up this detail earlier, watching him meekly open his presents as if he didn’t deserve them. Maybe he was a little more talkative now that the meager giving time was over, and they were on to something he could speak about without shame. Too bad they hadn’t noticed.
‘My favorite is mincemeat pie,’ Althea said, because it was about time she got a word in edgewise.
‘I didn’t know,’ Hal said.
‘Shame on you. What kind of son doesn’t know his mother’s favorite pie?’ Fiona said.
Althea bristled, but Fiona had suddenly switched moods, as was her wont and, raising her glass, which had one last sip of wine that looked like an afterthought, she said, ‘To all who aren’t with us.’ No one else had any wine left. Letting the few drops roll into her mouth, Fiona gave a wink that was supposed to make a joke of her next words. ‘Hal, did you ever think of opening your own place?’
‘Where did that come from?’ Hal asked. He looked confused because of course he had his own place in Eau Gallie.
Grace glanced down and up so quickly that only Althea was observant enough to note it. You could always tell when people had been talking behind your back. But that wasn’t the bomb. The bomb came next.
‘I mean here. Just off the top of my head,’ Fiona said, to cover for her daughter. ‘Sowing a seed and all that. And here’s another. Why don’t the two of you take off for a few days?’
Althea started, ‘Grace wouldn’t—’
And then Grace broke in with a vague, ‘I don’t know …’
‘Look. Consider it an extra Christmas present. I’ll stay here and keep Althea and Shyla company. You can go stay at one of your whatever you call ’ems.’
‘Grace doesn’t think that’s legal,’ Althea murmured.
‘Well, I’m not going to tell anyone,’ Fiona said. ‘I’m here, and I don’t require babysitting. Shyla has the week off so we don’t have to worry about school. It’s the opposite of a perfect storm. A perfect opportunity. Go.’
Grace looked meekly across the table at Hal. Now she was agreeing. Now that her mother would be here. Someone she could trust with her precious daughter and her precious house. Now that the idea was coming from Fiona instead of Althea, it was all too perfect for words.
‘What a creative gift,’ Althea said, but no one noticed her sarcasm. Indeed, no one noticed her at all, except Robert, who had been sitting quietly without eating during the dinner. They exchanged sympathetic glances. She got up from the table as the others started making their plans to go the next day, and Grace already had the perfect location in mind, close to the beach yet not too far away so they could come home in an emergency, at which Fiona gave a noisy scoff. It was clear they had discussed this before, maybe when they had gone upstairs and maybe days before, and nailed down all contingencies. Maybe Grace had first mentioned it to Fiona after Althea made her own offer.
Althea went into the living room, where the garbage from the present unwrapping littered the floor. Candles on the hideous black credenza burned at half-mast. She picked up the menorah but it was too awkward and heavy. One real candle would serve the purpose that no battery powered candle could do. She selected the large one that divided the four smaller ones on each side. The wax ran over her hand as the candle tilted, but she ignored the pain. Nothing could hurt as much as the humiliation she had just suffered.
Althea felt so bad.
‘Time to straighten up the place, right, Robert?’ Althea said, but didn’t wait for his approval. Not all of the litter was on the floor. Hal had balled up his wrapping and then thrown it for Ruth to play with. Some of the wrapping balls were on the couch. Althea picked up one of them and held it to the candle’s flame. She watched the paper turn black at the edge and take its time before igniting the whole thing. Before she could be burned, she dropped the flaming ball into the center of the mess on the floor.
The tissue paper that had fallen out of the boxes was the most flammable and went first. After that the thin paper packaging that Grace had used. The shiny foil with which Fiona had wrapped her presents didn’t catch at all, but no matter. The track of flame led straight to the Christmas tree and lapped up around the fake branches. There was no water in the stand, of course, so whatever the tree was composed of caught fire nicely. Althea stood to one side watching the tree, musing that those things were supposed to be fire retardant. Oh well. The whole room was burning now with quiet frenzy while the chattering at the table in the other room grew into nothing but the chatter of monkeys from which Althea thought she heard someone say, ‘Does anyone besides Althea actually like mincemeat pie?’ followed by cackling.
No, here in the living room it was all quiet, cozy and warm, the way she had always remembered Christmas to be, first with Hal and Joan, and then just with Robert. Perfect.
The monkeys had started shrieking and howling what they imagined were carols, and which devolved into some sort of argument.
Seven maids a-milking.
No! Seven swans a-swimming!
It was annoying, but Robert had always known how to get her attention and make the best of a situation, like with their trips to Europe.
‘May I have this dance?’ he asked.
Althea took the arm that he so gallantly offered. ‘My pleasure,’ she said, ‘But we have no music.’
‘I’ll sing with the monkeys,’ he said, and began, ‘On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me …’
He had such a beautiful baritone. Althea threw the candle she was holding into the pyre.
THIRTY-SIX
The mère and père left the following day around mid-morning. They neglected to acknowledge Althea’s Special Day.
Althea felt bad. Here it was, a Special Day, and there was no acknowledgement. Instead, her daughter-in-law had whisked her son away. He would have remembered, she told herself. He may have forgotten last year, but he would remember this year if he hadn’t been whisked away. She thought that again because she liked the feel of it, a feeling like that of the silk whisking across the tender surface of her brain.
‘Why so down in the mouth?’ Fiona asked when Althea shuffled into the kitchen for a cup of weak tea. Fiona was dressed, but her natural curls were wet and coiled from a morning swim.
‘Oh, nothing.’
Fiona looked bored, Althea thought, but she asked to be polite. ‘No, tell me. What’s wrong?’
Althea burst into tears.
‘Ah, I know. These first holidays can be hell,’ Fiona said.
‘It’s not just that. Today is my anniversary.’
‘Anniversary of what?’
‘My wedding anniversary!’ Althea would have screamed it if she didn’t have such good manners. ‘It’s my wedding anniversary today and there’s no card, no flowers, they went off without even a mention … did Hal call me?’ she asked, holding on to hope’s shred.
‘Not yet,’ Fiona said in a phony kindly way, the way you speak to a child, Althea thought. ‘So you were married between Christmas and New Year’s?’
Althea gazed at her, pitying her for not being able to see the point. ‘It’s not uncommon with Christian marriages. You and … what was his name?’
‘Barry.’
‘Maybe Jews do it differently.’
‘Oh, I’m sure. All the time and twice on Fridays.’ Fiona narrowed her eyes and frowned but didn’t say more.
‘Are you going to tell them?’ Althea asked hopefully.
‘You mean Hal and Grace.’
‘Don’t tell them. I don’t want to ruin their time.’
‘OK, I won’t say a thing,’ Fiona said, and opened the refrigerator door where she stared. Then she took out some bread, single wrapped cheese slices, and a large tomato.
‘I always send Hal and Grace an anniversary card without fail,’ Althea said.
Fiona said, ‘What time does Shyla usually get up when it’s not school? It’s nearly eleven. Remember when we could sleep like that?’ She slathered butter on the bread and turned on the grill plate on the stove. ‘Should I fix her one of these, you think?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know,’ Althea answered. ‘How should I know? I just live here.’
Fiona made two of the sandwiches which would turn out to be either for Althea or Shyla. ‘I’m making one for you.’
‘Thank you. I suppose I should try to eat a little something.’
While she was watching the sandwiches so they wouldn’t burn, Fiona gushed the way she had the day before about the renovations.
‘And the décor!’ Fiona said. ‘Do you notice how she included accents of contrasting colors, like that teal pillow on the gray sofa? And touches of contrasting styles, like the Indian bronze elephant thingy on the ultra-modern credenza.’
‘Ganesha,’ Althea corrected, but if Fiona knew what she was talking about, she didn’t say.
Instead, ‘I’m just so impressed. Frankly, I didn’t know Grace had it in her. Maybe she’s seen a lot in the houses she’s managing.’
Cleaning, Althea corrected but didn’t say. How much can you see when you’re on your hands and knees scrubbing a shower? ‘Or maybe she asked my advice?’
Fiona glanced at her, clearly not believing that Grace would ask Althea rather than her own mother. Plus, she had been in the house when it had been Althea’s and that looked nothing like this. Fiona had not gushed at the house then.
‘Or hired a decorator?’ Althea suggested.
‘No, I don’t think she did. She would have told me. We talk at least once a week. Especially after they moved here.’
Poor Grace, having to suffer moving into a big house and losing her mother. Althea went to the front hall and picked up the statue with the relief of the Indian god Ganesha on the side, brought it into the kitchen, and bashed in Fiona’s head from behind.
‘Damn, no matter how carefully you watch these things, they always scorch,’ Fiona said, picking up the fry pan and sliding the sandwiches en masse on to a plate. ‘Well, I’m sure we don’t mind.
THIRTY-SEVEN
There was a hard rain the following afternoon and Fiona asked Shyla if she wanted to go to the movies. Wonder of wonders, they invited Althea, but Althea had other plans, this being the first day since before Christmas that she would be alone in the house.
The absence of the others allowed Althea ample time to go upstairs and check Grace’s perfume. Luckily Grace had chosen not to take any to their retreat. There would be time to clear the bathroom of the scent before they returned, so Althea didn’t carry the bottle downstairs and outside. Just the same, she opted not to simply spray it in the air. Instead she ran water in the sink and sprayed the perfume into the running tap, diluting the fragrance. Without realizing what was happening, she was sure Grace would appreciate her using it up. It wasn’t a very agreeable smell. Because there were still a few more days before Grace and Hal returned, she depressed the atomizer longer than usual, figuring Grace wouldn’t notice how much was gone, while she wouldn’t have to take the chance of coming upstairs again.
Althea approved that the area upstairs was much tidier than it had been when she first started coming up. She remembered the blouse that Fiona had bought for Grace’s birthday and looked in the closet to see if it was one of the things Grace had taken for her getaway. It wasn’t there. Perfume left, blouse taken. People had their priorities.
Shyla’s room was a mess. Fiona’s was neat. There was a shared bathroom between them, spick and span, Grace making sure it was perfect for Fiona.
Not remembering how long she had been up here, Althea had a moment of panic. But as it was, she had plenty of time to get back downstairs.
Soon enough the garage door opened and Fiona and Shyla came in. They spoke naturally, animatedly, like two old friends rather than a grandmother and grandchild. This was how Shyla and Althea should be. Althea thought if she had Shyla to herself more often, they would generate this kind of camaraderie, this kind of effortless love.
Shyla ran upstairs, ripping off her clothes as she went.
‘Hang that up!’ Fiona called after her.
Shyla stopped at the top of the stairs and sniffed at the air. ‘Is Mom home?’ she called down.
‘Not until Thursday,’ Fiona answered.
Shyla’s shoulders went up in the universal shrug of teenhood and went into her room, then came back down in her bathing suit. Fiona told her dinner was on and she could swim afterwards.
Althea said you shouldn’t swim after eating. And that a bathing suit was not appropriate dinner attire.
They ignored her.
They sat down to dinner. Althea had set the table, giving Fiona and Shyla forks for the Chinese take-out they had brought home with them, and heating up the food in the microwave. For herself she took a set of the chopsticks the restaurant put in the bag.
‘Mu shoo pork sucks,’ Shyla said. Althea bridled and was about to call out, ‘Language,’ but Fiona got there first.
