The Good Life Page 29

  “Yes,” said Ann curtly. “Mother?”

  “Oh, why not,” said Eileen. “Let’s throw discretion to the wind.” Ann poured two more glasses of wine and refilled hers. “Anything for you?” Eileen asked Lauren.

  “I’d love some wine,” said Lauren, smiling.

  “Nice try, little girl,” said Ann, taking her glass and walking across the kitchen floor and into the hallway.

  “You’re welcome to a soft drink, Lauren,” said Eileen, when Ann was gone. “Join us in the living room if you’d like.”

  “No thanks, Gran,” said Lauren. “I’m going to stay here.”

  “Don’t do that whole puzzle on me, now,” said Eileen. “We can do more together later.”

  “Sounds good,” said Lauren, fitting in another piece. As soon as her grandparents left the kitchen, Lauren took one of the real Cokes her father occasionally brought home from the refrigerator. She popped the top, then sat back down at the table. She had inserted three more pieces into the puzzle and was on the verge of completing the lower left-hand corner when she felt her phone vibrate. She reached into her pocket and checked the caller ID. It was Josh.

  By the time Eileen and Sam reached the living room, Ann was sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper. “Mind if we join you?” asked Eileen, holding a small bowl of peanuts.

  Ann put the paper down and looked at her mother. “Wasn’t that the point?”

  Eileen held Sam’s glass while he lowered himself into Mike’s favorite armchair. Ann thought about protesting—knowing he would either spill his wine or dribble chewed peanuts down his shirt front and into the cracks around the seat cushion, creating indelible oil stains on the imported silk fabric—but she had no idea where she would prefer he sit. She briefly considered the family room, but decided against it since it would take so long to relocate. She finished her wine as Eileen gave Sam a handful of nuts and then sat down on the other end of the couch. “Peanut?” asked Eileen, holding the bowl out to Ann.

  “Not for me,” said Ann, holding up her hand.

  “They’re delicious,” said Eileen, popping a few into her mouth.

  “What I need,” said Ann, standing, “is some more wine.”

  “That’s the last thing you need,” said Sam after Ann had left the room.

  “Sam, honey, are you with me?” asked Eileen.

  “I’m always with you.”

  “I’m worried about her, Sam,” she said, leaning forward on the couch cushion, looking at her husband’s kind face. “I’m worried about our daughter.”

  “With good cause.”

  “She drinks an awful lot. And I’m afraid,” said Eileen, looking at the carpet beneath her feet, “that she isn’t very well-liked.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” asked Sam, taking a sip of his drink and appearing interested.

  “Remember I went to that fashion show with Ann—last week, I guess it was. Well, afterward, I was waiting in the lobby for her and happened to overhear two women, who were complete strangers—I had never seen either of them before—talking about our Ann. And they were saying derogatory, uncharitable things.”

  “Women are gossipers,” said Sam. “It’s nothing to concern yourself about.”

  “But it happened in church, too, Sam, people talking about our daughter, like they do about a movie star or someone in national politics. I don’t understand it,” said Eileen. “And I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it any better than you do.”

  “She’s vulnerable, Sam. She seems strong, but she is soft inside. She appears to be on top of things, but I think she’s lost. And I don’t know how to help her.”

  “And I can appreciate that,” said Sam, “because until I got to know these people we are staying with a little bit better, I might have said the same things.” Eileen briefly searched her husband’s face with her eyes, and then scooted back on her cushion and took a sip of her wine.

  In the kitchen, Ann poured herself another glass, drank half of it, and then replenished what she’d consumed. She opened the refrigerator door to put the bottle back, then, changing her mind, carried it to the living room, where her parents were sitting in silence. “More wine?” she asked, showing them the bottle.

  “Goodness no, dear,” said Eileen. “I’ve still got half a glass.”

  “Dad?”

  “What?”

  “Would you like some more wine?”

  Sam looked at Eileen. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

  “She wants to know if you want more wine, Sam,” said Eileen.

  “I don’t even drink wine,” said Sam. “How could I possibly want more?”

  “Because your current glass of wine is almost empty,” said Ann.

  Sam looked at the wineglass sitting on the table next to him. “That’s not mine,” he said.

  “Suit yourself,” said Ann, carrying the bottle to the couch and setting it down on a magazine on the coffee table. “Any news from Meadowbrook?”

  “Nothing available yet,” said Eileen. “But it shouldn’t be much longer. We’re moving up the list.” Not fast enough, thought Ann. “So,” said Eileen, “what do you think the boys are up to tonight?”

  Here we go, thought Ann: Hypothetical Who Cares, one of her mother’s favorite games. She loved to wonder aloud what someone, anyone, in the world was doing and encourage everyone in the room to discuss it. It could be someone the game participants knew, in this case Mike and Nate. It could also be someone no one knew personally, like the president of the United States. Who, what, and where didn’t really matter, as far as Ann could tell. Hypothetical Who Cares was simply her mother’s method of getting people to talk. It was what people referred to as an ice breaker, but Ann thought it was old-fashioned and boring. “I have no idea,” she said, pouring herself more wine.

  “What do you think, Sam?” asked Eileen.

  “What do I think of what?”

  “What do you think Mike and Nate are doing tonight?”

  Sam stared blankly at his wife. “How would I possibly know something like that?” he finally said.

  Ann smiled. “Good point, Dad.”

  “Well, I think they’ve just finished their last run of the day,” said Eileen, looking at her watch. “I think they’re heading to the lodge for some hot chocolate.”

  “Maybe,” sang Ann, who guessed Mike hadn’t had a hot chocolate in ten years.

  “Is there a lodge meeting?” asked Sam, putting his hands on the arms of the chair in an effort to lift himself.

  “No, no, Sam,” said Eileen, waving the air in front of her. “We’re talking about a ski lodge. Mike and Nate are in Colorado celebrating Nate’s birthday.”

  “No kidding,” said Sam. “That sounds like a fine idea. I wish I could have gone with them.”

  “I’m sure they would love to have you along,” said Eileen to Sam. Ann drank the rest of her wine, then reached for the bottle. “Haven’t you had several glasses already?” asked Eileen, touching Ann’s hand.

  “I’m a grown-up,” said Ann, “so I can decide for myself what I think is an appropriate amount of wine.”

  “My mother always told me . . .” started Eileen.

  “. . . that two drinks was all anyone needed in an evening,” finished Ann.

  “Evidently, I’ve told you that before.”

  “About a billion times,” said Ann, refilling her glass. “Obviously your mother didn’t have much fun.”

  Eileen pursed her lips and stood. “Who’s ready for dinner?”

  “I am,” said Sam. “What’s on the menu?”

  “Meat loaf, baked potatoes, and lima beans,” announced Eileen.

  “Give me a trucker’s portion,” said Sam, lifting himself out of the chair. “I could eat a horse.”

  “I’m going to pass,” said Ann, picking up the newspaper.

  “Ann, you’ve got to eat something,” said Eileen.

  “I’ll find something a little later,” said Ann, from be
hind the Region section. “I’m not hungry right now.”

  “You’re going to waste away into nothing,” said Eileen.

  Ann poked her head out, looked at her mother, and smiled. “That’s my plan,” she said.

  In her room, where she walked when her phone rang, Lauren was still talking to Josh. Images of Judd ran in and out of her mind. She was lying on her back on her bed, holding the phone in her right hand and looking for split hair ends with her left. Pammy had told her that by the time most girls were fifteen, half of their hair ends were unhealthily divided. “Do you need to check with your mom?” asked Josh.

  “What do you think?”

  “No,” said Josh.

  “I’ll tell her I’m going out with friends. You don’t even have to come inside.”

  Josh hesitated. “Do you want me to come inside?”

  “No,” said Lauren. “She’d want to know the whole story and then she’d probably tease us.”

  “What is the whole story, Lauren?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean with us,” said Josh softly. “Are we really going to do this, or was it a spur-of-the-moment thing the night of that party?” Lauren inhaled and held it. She slowly let out her breath. She wasn’t thinking about Judd anymore. “I want to be with you,” Josh said, “but only if you want to be with me. I don’t want to potentially lose my best friend over a girl who’s not that interested.”

  “That’s not very nice,” said Lauren.

  “Maybe not,” said Josh. “But I’m about to come out of the closet here with Nate, and I don’t want to look like a fool, Lauren.”

  Lauren sat up. “You’re not a fool,” she said, more interested in Josh than she had been in the last fifteen minutes.

  Josh said nothing, and then asked her about Judd. “He’s free,” Josh said. “He’s free for the first time in three years.”

  “I know,” said Lauren, picturing sitting in his car.

  Lauren heard a knock on her door. It was her grandmother, telling her dinner was ready. Lauren hollered she would be right down. “I guess you have to go,” said Josh, laughing.

  “Yes,” said Lauren. “It’s time for dinner.”

  “Okay, then. Do you want to go to the movies tonight?”

  Lauren bit her bottom lip and thought about what her grandmother had told her about rebound relationships. Judd probably already had a date for that very night. He would certainly want to play the field and Lauren knew she wasn’t first-string material. “Yes,” she said.

  “Good,” said Josh. “I’ll pick you up at eight thirty, at the front door.”

  Lauren, Eileen, and Sam sat at the table in the guesthouse kitchen. Selma was having dinner with her sister, but would be home in time to help Eileen settle Sam in for the evening. Lately, he had been getting out of bed and walking around in the middle of the night. On the one hand, his behavior told Eileen he was comfortable in the guesthouse, comfortable enough to think he belonged there and had things to do at two o’clock in the morning. On the other hand, his nocturnal wanderings were a source of concern. How long would it be before he figured out the new locking system on the doors and wandered off again into the darkness? He was an intelligent man—had been, anyway—and his moments of lucidity brought with them opportunities for everything from coherently participating in a conversation to working a mechanical device. Eileen knew Sam would eventually discover the new locks and consider their conquest an honorable pursuit; she just didn’t know when, because he was different now. Sometimes he was her husband, but most of the time he was a stranger, more animal than human. She watched him shove a large chunk of meat loaf into his mouth. He ate ravenously. It pleased Eileen to know that after all these years he still loved her cooking. But he’d lost his sense of decorum, which disturbed her. Proper speech, dress, and manners had always mattered to him. As a healthy man, he was always aware of how he was perceived by others, much more so than most in their farming community. He changed his shirt and washed his hands rigorously before sitting at the dinner table, his fingernails rid of the field. Now, he sometimes reminded her of a feral dog grazing in a diner Dumpster on castoff daily luncheon specials, unaware of anything but what was right in front of him. Food was so important to him now; maybe because it was the only thing he had to look forward to. Sam looked up and caught Eileen looking at him. He smiled at her, and she patted his hand. Good boy.

  After dinner, Sam watched a movie in the living room while Eileen and Lauren did the dishes. “Gran,” said Lauren, drying a pot, “can I talk to you?”

  “Of course you can,” said Eileen.

  “It’s about Josh.”

  As promised, Josh rang the big house doorbell at eight thirty. Lauren, who had already told her mother she was going to the movies with some friends, called good-bye and bolted out the front door. Josh, who was suddenly standing six inches from her, laughed. “I guess you really don’t want me to come in,” he said.

  Lauren smiled at him. “It’s just my mother in there,” she said. “We don’t need to talk to her.”

  “Your mother’s okay,” said Josh, putting his arm around Lauren and steering her toward the car.

  “And you’re just being polite,” said Lauren.

  “Ah,” said Josh, opening the car door for Lauren. “You’ve caught me.” Lauren sat down and Josh shut her door. She watched him as if for the first time as he walked around the front of the car through the headlights. He had beautiful skin, clear and the color of an early June tan. His cheeks were rosy, as if he had run to their house instead of driven. He was an inch or so taller than Nate, who was five foot, ten inches. Judd was six feet, two inches. She’d seen that somewhere—maybe a football program. Josh had nice teeth, the result of spending his junior high years in braces and nighttime headgear, and lips that were red enough to warrant a second glance. His lazy brown eyes and long dark lashes made him look like he was from another country. A lot of girls at school thought he was cute and asked Lauren what it was like having him around her house all the time. But she had always shrugged off their questions. She had not been seriously interested, until now, and wasn’t sure why. He was such fun. Lauren had a mental picture of him from a couple of summers ago on their pool deck, his broad, hairless chest and strong, wiry arms flexed into an Incredible Hulk imitation, done without the slightest hint of self-consciousness. He was a good friend to Nate because he was loyal, but also because he didn’t let Nate run all over him. Josh opened his door, allowing a blast of cold air into the warm exterior. Lauren shivered and Josh turned up the heat. “You look pretty,” he said, looking at her. “I’m glad you’re going out with me tonight.”

  “Me too,” said Lauren, who had spent more time than usual on her appearance. While she was certainly aware of what other girls wore to school and to parties, and, consequently, had much of the same clothing, she didn’t linger in front of the mirror. Tonight, she did, brushing the tangles out of her hair, brushing her teeth, applying light makeup. Just before she left her room, she sprayed perfume into the air and then walked through it. She’d read about that in a magazine.

  Josh leaned over and kissed her cheek. He slowly pulled away from her before shifting the car into DRIVE. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Ann opened her eyes and realized she was lying on the couch in the living room with the newspaper, refolded, sitting on her lap. She looked at her watch; it was just after nine o’clock. She must have fallen asleep. Slowly, she sat up, put the newspaper on the coffee table in front of her, and gently rubbed her eyes. She had a headache. She got up off the couch and walked into the kitchen. There, she took the bottle of ibuprofen out of the cabinet above the sink and spilled three terra-cotta-colored tablets into her hand. She filled a glass with water, then, leaning against the counter and closing her eyes, swallowed the tablets one at a time. She ran her hands over her abdomen and realized she was hungry. When she opened the refrigerator, the first thing she saw was a Tupperware container filled with the leftovers of
one of her mother’s casseroles. Fat from the hamburger or bacon or sausage or whatever meat her mother had mixed into it had congealed, forming a half-inch layer of pale yellow lard on top. Ann gagged. With her thumb and index finger, she lifted the container from the shelf and threw it into the garbage. Next in line was another container, this one half-filled with green beans. Again, Ann threw the whole thing away. Three pieces of well-done steak wrapped in aluminum foil; two spoonfuls of crusty scalloped potatoes in a small glass jar; dressed salad so soggy it could have been served with a spoon (Ha, thought Ann—send that to the starving children in China); chocolate pudding with its crust peeling away from the sides of a plastic bowl; and three one-inch cubes of cantaloupe wrapped in plastic wrap all sat on the second shelf of her refrigerator, as if it stood in the one-bedroom apartment of a single mother in the city’s projects. While disgusted, Ann was not surprised to find leftovers in her fridge. Her mother simply could not throw food away. It didn’t matter if it was sixteen kernels of corn. She would find them a temporary home in a plastic container she had once purchased at the grocery store, eaten the contents of, and then washed out carefully for future use. As a child, Ann had been the one assigned to find the perfect container for whatever leftover her mother wanted contained. The bottom was never hard to find; Eileen had a hundred of them in varied sizes. It was finding the matching top that proved vexing to Ann. Often in utter frustration, Ann had called her mother away from the sink to help. And it was then, time and again, that Eileen had explained the Ring on Deli tops always went with the A&P Forever bottoms. Together, Eileen and Ann would package up whatever they didn’t eat and refrigerate it. On Friday nights, Eileen served what she called the Week’s Review, declaring, “Waste not, want not!” as she set her creation down on the middle of the kitchen table. Ann’s father always smiled appreciatively as Ann held her stomach in anticipation of the ache it would inevitably suffer later. Even then, as Ann silently prayed for survival when her father was saying grace, she vowed to never eat another leftover as soon as she was on her own.