Maternal instinct, p.4
Maternal Instinct, page 4
She blithely agreed to quit her job in order to be a proper mom to them. Even with Joan entering her teenage years, there was still plenty of time to cultivate her. Joan wasn’t a bad child, not at first. She just needed to have her personality toned down a bit. It was too big.
Althea was married to Robert for thirty-two perfect years. And then he got sick and died.
Looking around the room at all her choices, she decided on the spongy armchair next to a small end table for her prayer place. It would be perfect for reading too, so wide that her elbows barely found purchase at the same time on the thickly padded arms. It made her feel like Alice growing smaller. The chair faced a large single-paned window that in the daylight would look out on the side yard where the bougainvillea used to be.
Grasp the crucifix and begin with the Apostle’s Creed.
What was that on the windowsill?
This being December and already dark, she wouldn’t be able to see the bougainvillea anyway.
There was a shade that could be let down for privacy, but she was still dressed.
She assumed the people who lived in the house next door for the past ten years or so were still there. They had come to Robert’s funeral. She would have to visit her old neighbors soon, certainly bring them something homemade.
With her thumb Althea fingered the naked body of Jesus on the cross, as if she would push aside the tiny drape over his loins. She imagined her own arms, pinned, unable to move. The wooden crucifix on which was affixed the metal image was so large she could close her eyes and feel the nails and the crown of thorns as he died for her sins.
… And once again started the Apostle’s Creed. ‘I believe in God the Father Almighty Creator of heaven and earth …’
No stranger to Catholic dogma, there she was at seven years old, lying awake at night thinking she would go to hell forever when she died. Was it these new surroundings, her loneliness, forcing her thoughts back to that time? As a child, Althea didn’t have many friends, she was too – what her mother would call – shy. But the girl who sat next to her in the second grade, Karen Wrobleski, told her about going to lessons for making a First Holy Communion. They practiced First Holy Communion using Necco Wafers, and that was when Karen also told her about preparations for First Confession.
When Karen explained what First Confession was, Althea thought she might feel better if she did that. Maybe she wouldn’t lie awake at night thinking how she was likely to die and spend eternity in hellfire. Maybe Confession would stop those thoughts. Her friend said not to do it, that tricking the priest into thinking she was Catholic would be sinful in itself. But Althea figured her imagination was sinful anyways, and so had nothing to lose. She walked to St Clement’s Catholic Church on Saturday where the sign outside announced confession from 4 p.m. to 5 p.m.
The church was nice inside which made Althea less fearful. It was dim without feeling gloomy, made of stone and dark wood, and smelled of candle wax and something she wouldn’t recognize until years later, incense. She saw the booths that Karen had described to her (though Karen had not confided what sins she would confess because you weren’t allowed to do that). When she pulled aside the heavy velvet curtain and stepped inside there was a different smell, like old sweat, but it wasn’t terrible. She imagined it was just the fear that people brought into the booth with them. She held her elbows out from her body because her own armpits were sweaty.
Stop thinking.
She knelt down on what was clearly a kneeler for kneeling. It clicked a little and appeared to turn on a light on the other side of the window-like screen, which was covered with a piece of cut-out wood. A panel moved to the side with an authoritative swish. She could make out that the person on the other side was a man, and his face was full of fat, but that was all.
‘I have come to confess,’ she said, trying to sound sure of herself. It sounded a little like she was placing a hamburger order at White Castle, but it was the best she could do.
‘Well, then say it properly, child,’ the man’s voice said, with an Irish brogue.
Althea didn’t know how to say it properly. Karen hadn’t told her that part.
When she didn’t go on, he prompted, ‘Father, forgive me for I have sinned, my last confession was so many days ago.’
Althea repeated obediently, ‘Father, forgive me for I have sinned, my last confession was so many days ago.’
There was the briefest pause while the priest seemed to consider what she had said. Then, ‘Who are you, child?’ the voice said, and the vaguely male face turned ponderously toward her as if to see. The way his head turned sparked the memory of that terrifying dream she once had, Mr O’Brian reluctantly lifting his eyes from his cards (or the puzzle piece he held in his hand), as if that was more interesting to him than the shame of the child and her laughing mother.
The large head kept turning up and in her direction, slowly, as if fighting some inertia brought about by its immense weight – or boredom.
Now Althea’s fingers moved over the rosary as she tried to take back her mind from the memory of that head. First bead, ‘Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name …’
Althea had panicked and run from the confessional booth, nearly tripping over the burgundy fringe at the bottom of the curtain. There followed more nights worrying about going to hell. But the church had also been her salvation. Years later she discovered that you don’t need to be forgiven for things that don’t happen, for the things you only imagine or dream, like being displayed naked to strangers or stabbing your mother with a steak knife. Althea was forever careful to avoid committing sin.
Second bead, deep breath in, ‘Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee …’
Althea stopped whispering the line. She saw a glow on the window ledge that was more than light cast from the overhead combination fan and light. Keeping her finger on the second bead of the first decade, she used her left hand to hoist herself out of the chair and went to the window.
It was a cobweb. Spider web? Althea wondered if there was a difference. What was a cob, anyway? The thing was so thick with crisscrossed strands that it was nearly opaque. It dipped down to the millefleur paperweight midway along the sill and then sloped up to the metal window frame on the right.
Althea stared at the paperweight. She had bought it during a tour of the Murano glassworks and given it to Grace as a birthday present. Now it was in her room. Was it a friendly gesture, leaving something familiar to make her feel more at home, or was it a cast-off that Grace didn’t want?
That made Althea feel bad.
Oh, the web. Her attention turned back, she peered among the strands for a sight of the spider or the cob that might have made it.
Nothing. Still holding her place on the rosary, Althea went into the bathroom, got a small wad of toilet paper, and came back to the window to wipe the web away, careful to make sure that no spider clinging to it would leap on to her hand in a daring bid for survival. She flushed the paper down the toilet and returned to her prayers.
‘Holy Mary Mother of God pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death amen.’
EIGHT
Grace approached her regular weekly call with her mom with all the candor of a convict appearing before the parole board. She had whined enough and was determined to not subject Fiona to more of the same so that her mother would come to dread her calls. Mom deserved better than that.
After all, Hal never complained. He did whatever was wanted of him. Sold his little bakery with the four ice-cream tables and free coffee up in Eau Gallie and was baking at the much larger Pastry Plus on Atlantic Avenue. He said he was ‘fine’, but going from being his own boss to having one, was he fine, and did he even know?
Grace didn’t mind so much working for the Airbnb company. Prepping houses for their new guests gave her something to do while she figured out what to do. So what if the new guests treated her like help when they ran into her, and the other women in her neighborhood were members of the tennis and yacht club? So what if Shyla would probably be embarrassed by her?
Grace had sneaked a look at Shyla’s phone and seen postings on her Instagram and TikTok pages, one selfie and a few seconds’ video of the pool, with her voice talking about how she had this great place to train for the next meet. There were no replies or likes, bullying or kind, nothing at all. Amazing how you could lose contact with old friends in just a little over two weeks. Plus, it wasn’t easy for someone of Shyla’s temperament to make friends when you entered a new eighth grade two months after school started.
Grace almost wished her daughter would complain more than Hal did. Instead, Shyla watched more TV than she used to, and spent more time with Gonzo, and looked sad. Thank God she had gotten on the swim team; at least there was that. Maybe she would make some friends there. And she could invite them over because look at the huge fancy house they had. Just look at it.
Grace remembered to put a little concealer under her eyes to hide the darkish smudges there, though it couldn’t do much about the puffiness that was somehow accentuated in the FaceTime camera.
She tapped ‘Fiona’ and heard the ring tone.
Fiona’s face burst on to the screen. Mom had a way of bursting in, no matter whether it was digital or real. ‘Hello, Froot!’ she all but yelled, maybe guessing what Grace was experiencing and just a little too eager to be upbeat for her sake.
‘Hello, Woomy,’ Grace said, and smiled despite herself. She could never remember when it was that they’d come up with those nicknames; it was long before Hal had brought his stepmother and her Catholicism into her life, so it wasn’t that they were making fun of that prayer about Jesus being the fruit of Mary’s womb. Well, OK, they were making fun of it, but it didn’t have anything to do with Althea’s devotion.
‘So. Is it still awful?’ Fiona never wasted time getting to the point. Sometimes it felt good, having this much honesty thrust at her. And sometimes Grace would have wished to hide her feelings a little more. But then she had chosen to call.
‘Is what awful?’ Grace asked.
‘Don’t be coy, dear,’ Fiona said.
Grace laughed. ‘OK, OK, I’m busted. I’ve been trying to come up with something more positive than the fantastic Dyson the VRB company gave me or the sizable tip from a recent guest.’
‘How soon do you want me?’
‘Oh please don’t come down yet. Althea will suspect we’ve talked and think you’re coming here to take my side.’
Fiona didn’t answer that, just gave a ‘yeah duh’ expression. Grace was always impressed that Fiona, being in a different generation, could do the ‘yeah duh’ face so well.
Fiona changed the subject. ‘So the house. Thanks for letting me off the hook for Thanksgiving. Twice in one month, too much driving. How was the move? You never told me.’
‘Went smoothly. Had a little housewarming party, just a few people from Eau Gallie came. It was sad to think that I’m going to lose those friends. Lots of mouthing about how we’re going to stay in touch. Two hours’ travel makes a big difference. But Hal made some wonderful little quiches.’
‘You’ll make more. What kind?’
Grace wasn’t sure her mom was talking about friends or quiches. ‘Kind?’
‘Quiches.’
‘Artichoke and mushroom … ham … um …’
‘That’s OK, dear, I was just being polite. Did you get rid of the terrible Victorian furnishings?’
‘Pretty much. Once we had all the walls knocked down to open up the space on the first floor, it sort of lent itself to ultra-modern. Hal weighed in on that, believe it or not. I mostly like it, and we saved a few of Althea’s pieces, like a couple of lamps that make a good contrast with the modern cubist stuff.’
‘Listen to you, all knowledgeable about interior design.’
‘Must come from all the time I spend in rich people’s houses.’
‘How did Althea feel about getting rid of her stuff? Does she seem to have adjusted since we talked last to the changes you made?’
‘Well, don’t make it sound like we threw all her belongings in the road. She chose what she wanted to keep and we furnished the suite with it. Then we had an estate sale. It was definitely a joint operation.’
‘Is that her opinion?’
Grace cocked her head to the side and then leaped in what she and her mom called mental mountain-goating. ‘Mom, I miss you. How long am I going to feel like a stranger in my own house?’
‘Honey, you’re going to have to deal, as Shyla would say. It’s only been a few days.’
‘You know what they say about fish and guests.’
‘Only she’s not a guest. This is life. This could go on a while.’
‘A while? That’s code for until she dies.’
‘Well, until somebody dies. If Hal goes first, are you responsible?’
‘Good question. I’m not sure what “responsible” even means. The whole thing happened so quickly and we didn’t have a lawyer of our own to look at the contract. Hal just trusted that his dad wouldn’t screw him.’
Fiona’s voice softened as she stopped trying to play the tough gal. ‘I would say I’m sorry but I don’t want to make you cry.’
‘Too late.’
Fiona instantly responded to the tears starting in Grace’s eyes. ‘What?’
‘Hal is a little worried about the restaurant. This should be the busy season. And there’s stress, and I feel like I can’t allow it to show because it’s like there’s always company in the house. You know, no matter how nice the company is, you have to watch what you say, watch how you move, watch how your face looks. You know how she—’
‘I know, I’ve been to enough family gatherings. Robert’s funeral.’
‘Oh, don’t get started on that again.’
‘And the way she talked so loudly at the reception, everyone in the room could hear about Hal “leaving the church”. And now you never even go.’
‘We go.’
Fiona gave a silent snort that Grace could see on the screen if not hear. ‘Christmas and Easter.’
‘Some Easters,’ Grace said, and grinned. With some people, it felt like they said, ‘good morning’ and you’d want to snap, ‘what’d you mean by that?!’ While people who loved each other could say just about anything and it didn’t hurt. A memory of how home could be that way if she didn’t have to walk on eggshells washed through her and it was too tiring to hide it.
Fiona caught the look that the thought created, and softened her voice. ‘You’re not OK.’
‘I’m up to my armpits in eggshells,’ she said.
Fiona gazed at Grace, as if the conversation kept going in ways where words weren’t enough. ‘Much as I love you, I’m thinking this venting isn’t the best for you. If you keep feeling this way, I still think you should have a heart-to-heart with her.’
‘That would help, sure,’ Grace said, glancing at the time in the corner of the screen.
‘Or get a life coach? I hear that’s the latest thing. Not a psychologist.’
‘Sounds good. Love you. See you.’ Grace kissed the tip of her finger and pressed it to the disconnect button.
NINE
Several days followed the ones before it, Althea slowly putting away her clothes, making herself light meals, engaging Hal as best she could when he came home in the mid-afternoon and was only interested in a shower and nap, and quietly eating her dinner at the table before returning to her room. Just as the other mornings, a restless night had given way to the sounds of people preparing for their day. That would just be Grace and Shyla upstairs making all the noise. Hal would have risen and gone to the restaurant around three a.m. Althea pulled up the blanket as a shield to protect her from the activity, to keep her from feeling forced to go out there and engage.
When she heard them descend the stairs and the door to the garage open and close, she got up, drew on her old friend the chenille robe with the pink and lavender peacock on the back, slipped into her house shoes, and emerged like a timid wild animal from its burrow after the danger is past.
As always, the aroma of coffee attracted her to the kitchen. It had taken three tries to find the cupboard with the mugs and another two tries to find a canister with the coffee pods. But once she had those two things in hand, it was easy to fix a cup in the Keurig. She had had one of her own and didn’t need instructions. There was some fat-free half-and-half in the refrigerator. As she sipped her coffee, she examined the contents of the refrigerator and decided today’s first order of business was to make a list of the things she wanted that weren’t there. About to look for a small pad of paper, she spied on the counter a white sheet of paper with careful printing. See, this morning had something different to offer, after all.
WHEN NO ONE IS HOME, PLEASE:
DO NOT GO UP THE STAIRS BY YOURSELF.
DO NOT USE THE POOL. DO NOT USE THE STOVE OR THE OVEN. MICROWAVE OK.
MAKE SURE RUTH CAN’T GET TO GONZO. LEAVE LID ON CAGE.
PLEASE LEAVE THE WINDOWS SHUT AS AC IS ON. IF YOU LEAVE HOUSE, MAKE SURE ALL DOORS ARE LOCKED AND BLINDS CLOSED.
PLEASE TURN KEURIG OFF WHEN NOT IN USE.
There was more.
HERE’S KEY TO HOUSE. SORRY, FORGOT TO GIVE IT TO YOU.
WE FOUND YOUR PHONE AND PROGRAMMED BOTH OUR NUMBERS IN CASE OF EMERGENCY.
THE BOX IS A MEDICAL ALERT DEVICE. PROGRAMMED. PLEASE WEAR.
PLEASE DON’T EAT GROUND BEEF OR VEGETABLES. DINNER.
Althea wondered which of these rules she had unknowingly broken that had occasioned Grace to put it all in writing. It seemed to take an awful lot of trouble to write the list in capital letters. Althea recalled that on the computer this was taken to be shouting. She smiled. Even in writing they thought they had to raise their voices for her benefit.
Althea opened the small box next to the house rules and found a plastic medallion attached to a cord. She put it on. She would be obedient, but she wouldn’t thank them for treating her like a tagged bear. The receipt was left in the box. My goodness, what unnecessary extravagance. The thing even had a GPS system so they could track her down if she escaped.
