Maternal instinct, p.6
Maternal Instinct, page 6
However, just now she was not being funny, and they had to understand that. Unwilling to give up, Althea stubbornly willed their focus while understanding the threat of further jibes. ‘It appeared to be dead, but when I tried to pick it up with a magazine it came back to life and crawled on my wrist.’ And then, ‘It bit me. Here.’ She lifted her left hand with the tender wrist exposed to show a pale red mark. If she had one on the other hand, it would have looked like the marks of the crucifixion.
Now Grace was genuinely engaged. ‘Oh dear. How long ago was this?’
‘This morning,’ Althea said, watching Grace carefully for signs of not caring.
Grace took Althea’s wrist and rubbed a finger over the reddened spot. ‘It doesn’t look like a spider bite. They’re usually a raised bump with a white center, like an ant bite. But you might keep an eye on it in case it’s a brown recluse or something. You’ll need antibiotics.’
Having dispensed with the possibility of Althea’s death, Grace went back to devouring her stuffed peppers.
Before following suit, Hal looked at Althea with an encouraging smile, as if he shared that little link with her, that of her love of telling a good story, but didn’t want to interfere with the family dynamic. All he did was reach up and give Grace’s shoulder the merest rub. Althea knew from that point that he was unlikely to stick up for her ever. That was Hal, he’d rather plunge his hand into a pot of boiling glaze than join in any conflict.
And no one asked how Althea finally managed to dispatch the spider.
‘Fear of spiders is probably the most common phobia,’ Grace said, responding to Hal’s shoulder warning with a sympathetic shudder. ‘I would have been scared, too. If it was as big as you say.’
‘No, has to be fear of falling,’ Hal said.
‘What?’
‘Phobia.’
‘Fear of public speaking,’ Shyla said. ‘Did I tell you I’ve already been assigned to do a talk? I have to use PowerPoint.’
‘You’ll figure it out, you’re smart,’ Grace said.
If she were my child, I would have offered to help. Althea wrapped herself in the good sense she had not to say this out loud.
‘Bet you five dollars,’ Hal said.
The other two looked at him.
‘About what the top phobia is,’ Hal said.
Shyla picked up her smartphone and her thumbs went to town on it. Quickly she came up with, ‘Mom is right, it is fear of spiders at the top. Well, heights is third, that’s sort of like falling, right? But spiders is first.’
‘Ding ding ding! I win,’ Grace said.
The three of them laughed again.
Hal said, ‘We should rent Tarantula. Remember at the drive-in?’
Althea observed Grace’s eyes shoot open, as if she were expecting Hal to talk about making out in front of their child. ‘We can get it from Netflix. Would you like to see a Fifties horror movie, Shy?’
‘Sure.’
Who was the first one to change the subject, so that Althea’s talking point went nowhere? And on top of that, what did Grace mean by ‘if it was as big as you say.’ Of course it was as big as she said. Did they think she was lying? Did they think she was imagining it? Did they think she didn’t know what was real and what was not, that she hadn’t learned that lesson years ago?
There really was a spider.
And maybe she had been wrong about Shyla’s affection.
ELEVEN
‘And what about that spider? I got the feeling there wasn’t really a spider, she just wanted attention. This might sound crazy, but that spot on her wrist. It looked like she was pinching herself under the table.’
‘Of course there was a spider. Why would you think there was no spider?’
‘Just a feeling,’ Grace said. ‘It was all so dramatic. Killed a spider, for God’s sake.’
Hal shook his head. ‘No, if there wasn’t a spider, the story would have been much better than that.’ He walked into the bedroom and set the alarm for three a.m. It was a good alarm, didn’t have a sound but just a soft light and vibration so it wouldn’t wake Grace before she needed to get up in the morning. He pulled back the covers and got into bed, ready for sleep. ‘I hadn’t thought in a long time how Althea used to tell the best stories when I was a kid. And the funny thing, I wasn’t even that young when she married Dad. Twelve, thirteen? She would still read to me, or she’d make them up as she went, changing her voice for every character. Some pretty scary stuff. What an imagination.’
Grace got into her side of the bed. Hal rolled over and kissed her as he did every night, except for the nights when they used to do more than kiss. She loved that he did this. ‘Scary how?’ she asked, looking up at him as he leaned over her on his elbow.
‘Witches and goblins and stuff. The fairy tales most people don’t know.’ He rolled back to his side of the bed and turned out the light, but kept talking. ‘Dad was working a lot, and maybe she did it to bond, and so I wouldn’t miss Mom.’
Grace said, ‘I used to read to Shyla a lot. Even before she was born.’ That’s not as good as having ‘an imagination’. Did all women do that, compare themselves to other women and come up wanting? Wanting to stop Hal’s praise of Althea, ‘I had to get two houses ready today,’ Grace said into the dark.
No answer, which made it safe to add, ‘It’s hard for me, too,’ with a tremor in her voice she didn’t need to control.
Hal had already dropped off to sleep. Grace was just as happy he hadn’t heard her whine. She was stronger than that, not your typical female.
Strong. And happy. Grace had been happy with her life. She would go so far as to say Very Happy. It was a simple life, with a baker for a husband. She had worried about leaving her real-estate office job with its built-in friends up in Eau Gallie, but the broker had connected her to this company that dealt with Vrbos. Providing the maintenance and preparation of vacation rentals wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be. With Hal’s hours at the bakery and the solitary nature of her work, there wasn’t a lot of socializing, but it suited her. She got to talk to the odd plumber or electrician come to fix something, and she always got affirmation from the guests. Great Yelp reviews.
Moving into this part of town, though, where people belonged to golf and yacht clubs, where children went to private schools and took tennis lessons, for the first time in her life she pictured herself at a cocktail party, someone asking her if she ‘worked out of the house’ and when she told them what she did, watching that look as they realized that, no matter what title she gave herself, Vrbo manager or whatever, what they would hear is that she cleaned houses for a living.
Her plans to get her real-estate license, or maybe her MBA at the local university, didn’t need to be shelved permanently.
And Shyla. In Eau Gallie, Shyla hadn’t appeared to have any of the pre-teen angst that she had been dreading. She was smart, and well-balanced in terms of friends and sports. Hal had loved his little bakery, with all the love of a boy for his treehouse.
Such a happy, well-organized life it had been. And then somehow Hal and his father had made arrangements to Take Care of Althea, and upend her own life in the process. How did that happen to such a strong, funny, well-liked woman, one who had had friends? Those friends made the trip for the housewarming party, but a two-hour drive wasn’t conducive to last-minute lunches or movie or wine bar. You had to plan ahead, and you had to watch the drinking because of the drive home. Most of them had stayed over that one wonderful night, used the guest room, Althea’s room, and the couches. She had understood how things would be long term when she was listening to the sworn oaths to keep in touch.
At what point had she agreed to this? When dear sweet Hal took her hand and held it while calmly describing the inheritance and the conditions it required of them. Of her. Was she kidding herself about liking to clean houses for a living? Her parents had always given her to believe she was smart.
Now Shyla was having a hard time adjusting, and only Hal appeared to be truly contented with his job working for a boss at Pastry Plus. Grace supposed her mom was right, you couldn’t have a better husband than one who loves his work.
Grace had gone outside before dinner to watch Shyla do her laps in the new pool. Watching Shyla swim relaxed her, and Shyla said the pool was fine. That was a positive thing, Grace thought, reminding herself of that poster with the words ‘Attitude for Gratitude’.
When Shyla was finished and wrapped in a towel against the cooler evening air, Grace did what her own mother always called, ‘taking her temperature’. Subtle, you know? Not prying.
‘Is the heater working all right?’ she began.
‘Yeah, it’s cool,’ Shyla said.
‘But not too cool?’
Shyla grimaced. ‘Lame,’ she said.
‘You and Momya do all right here by yourselves in the afternoons?’
Shyla looked puzzled, like she didn’t understand the question, but then offered, ‘She fixed me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk. Said I wasn’t going to be a “latchkey kid” anymore.’
What the fuck, Grace thought. But said, ‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘I ate it. I was going to make a spinach smoothie but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.’
Well, that didn’t answer the question, but with a kid you had to take what you could get. Of course, Grace wasn’t being totally transparent herself. She didn’t share that last evening she had stood in the foyer out of sight and accidentally overheard some of Althea and Shyla’s conversation.
‘Here’s a photo of my parents,’ Grace heard her say. ‘They were such good parents. Psychologists, both of them, before everyone had a psychologist. I was analyzed from a very young age, especially Mother talking about my feelings and nightmares and such, all very cutting edge. She was the first to tell me how extraordinary my imagination was.’
No response from Shyla that Grace could hear.
‘Oh, and here’s a special treasure. A relic from Padre Pio.’
‘Wow,’ Shyla said.
‘Do you know what a relic is?’
‘I guess so.’
‘There are two kinds. The first-degree relic is a bit of the saint himself, like a sliver of bone or spot of blood.’
‘Gross! Is that?’
‘No, this is a second-degree relic, a tiny square of cloth cut from his robe. I don’t imagine you ever heard of Padre Pio.’
Shyla might have shaken her head at this point, because Althea went on. ‘He was an Italian priest who died not too long ago. The latest person in a small group to have exhibited the stigmata.’ There was a pause, perhaps one in which Althea was studying Shyla’s face, because she said, ‘No, you wouldn’t know what that is. It’s when you get the wounds of the crucifixion of Jesus in your hands and feet. And sometimes a gash in your side where the spear went in.’
‘Does it hurt?’
‘I think it does. But you don’t care because the marks indicate a special favor from God, like He thinks of you the same way He thinks of Jesus. Love divine, all loves excelling, as the hymn goes.’
‘What about bleeding? Does it bleed all over the place?’
‘I’m afraid it might, some. You see this card with the relic that shows a photo of Padre Pio? You see how his hands are bandaged.’
‘Rad.’
‘Your parents haven’t told you much about my faith, have they?’
‘Dad said you’re a saint,’ Shyla said.
Hal called her a saint?
‘Oh, my good gracious sakes alive. You have to be really good to be a saint. Spend a whole life doing good works. Or be martyred. Have some special sign of love bestowed on you like Padre Pio.’
‘Shyla!’ Grace had gone to the kitchen and called from there. ‘Come help me with dinner!’
TWELVE
Face to face. Heart to heart. Whatever organ Fiona told her to summon, Grace had stood at the doorway to Althea’s area. She had hoped that Althea would look up from her armchair and encourage her to come in, but Althea appeared rapt in whatever book she was reading. Not having immediately said ‘hi’ or something, Grace felt that she’d missed the chance to appear relaxed and now just stood there feeling awkward, like her skin was on wrong. She decided to lean up against the door jamb in a more casual stance, but there was still no sign that Althea noticed and she felt like an idiot.
Grace tried clearing her throat. Althea jumped then, and looked up. ‘Well, hello there!’ she said.
‘Mind if I come in?’ Grace asked.
Althea gave what appeared to be a shiver of pleasure. ‘Not at all, sweetums. That was a delicious dinner, by the way. With your being so busy, I don’t know how you do it.’
‘I just threw it all in the crock pot,’ Grace said, wishing she didn’t feel defensive about crock pots.
‘Ah, things are so much easier for housewives these days.’ Althea put a crocheted marker in her book, closed it and put it on the end table. Then she clasped her hands in her lap. ‘What can I do for you?’
How do you begin a heart-to-heart? Grace thought. She should have had a conversation starter planned. Now she just felt dumb, and her ability to run a home judged. Oh, grow up. You can do this.
Grace came into the room and tried not to look like she was looking. Her glance fell on the bookcase. Bingo. ‘I was so bent on getting your room ready that I didn’t have much chance to see your library.’ That was it: ‘library’ would certainly flatter her.
It did. ‘You’re so welcome to take whatever you like, you don’t even have to ask,’ Althea said. ‘They’re mostly classics from my time as an educator, and even a number of fairy tales. I’ve loved fantasy since I was a child. But now I’m running on. I didn’t realize you liked to read. Did Fiona read to you?’
‘Not regularly,’ Grace said. Changed it to, ‘Sometimes.’
‘Pity. I can see myself reading to Shyla.’
Grace felt defensive again after her too brief victory with ‘library’. ‘I don’t know if that would work. Shyla’s kind of old to be read to.’
‘Oh, my dear, I don’t think we’re ever too old. See how popular audiobooks are these days? I read to Joan and Hal. Did he ever tell you?’
Grace lost her will to fight. Her fingers played over the spines of the books in front of her while she resisted looking at Althea and saying something mean. There were authors she didn’t know, Stendhal, Koestler, and authors that everyone knew, Austen, Fitzgerald. That was Althea, that other-timely, other-worldly way of expressing herself, like some stick-up-your-ass WASP wannabe out of The Great Gatsby.
‘Grace?’
Grace pulled a book at random off the shelf and turned back to Althea, hoping that her thoughts didn’t show. Althea rose from her chair, and brought her own book over to the shelves. ‘Oh, Phyllis Whitney, one of my guilty pleasures,’ Althea said. ‘I started reading gothic novels in high school and always return to them when I’m sad.’ Althea held up her own book for Grace. ‘See, I’m rereading Rebecca right now. Daphne du Maurier. But I’m sure you know it.’
Grace drew back the corners of her mouth and lifted her chin in half of an acknowledging nod that Althea didn’t believe. ‘It’s a classic gothic tale about a woman who marries a widower and can’t measure up to his beloved dead wife. But then she finds out he actually hated his wife because she cheated on him, and he killed her. Then the new wife is happy.’
‘Happy,’ Grace frowned. ‘Knowing that her husband murdered his first wife? Seriously?’
‘Mmmm,’ Althea said. Modern women had no real passion, no romance, but she wasn’t about to press the issue.
Grace soon left with the book that Althea doubted she would read. She turned to Robert, who stood by the faux Christmas tree toying with an ornament from Amsterdam. She had gotten him to go there, saying that Amsterdam was a hub of drugs and prostitution and they should look for Joan there.
‘Well, that went well,’ Althea said. ‘I was faultless, don’t you think so, Robert? Without flaw.’
‘No one could fault you,’ he said. ‘Everything you said was perfectly kind and true.’
Althea hadn’t told even the tiniest lie about reading to Joan and Hal, though she recalled resistance from Joan early on. After a brief honeymoon period for the entire family, the first three years of their marriage grew increasingly rocky. Hal was a good boy. The difficulties were all with Joan. But then it all leveled out again, as it were. Of course the rest of life was overcast because of a Missing Child. The backpacking trip after graduation, a last postcard from Zurich. And of course because of a Missing Child, Robert drank.
Of course Robert drank. What else would anyone do who had a Missing Child? He was a highly functional alcoholic, though, able to continue his real-estate practice without slurring or stumbling. But his kidneys went. Because of the alcoholism, he was a bad candidate for a transplant, even though Althea would have given him both of hers. Indeed, have cut them out of her own body without anesthesia. Hal did not offer.
Althea never knew what Hal thought of his father, or whether Hal knew he was always overshadowed by the Missing Child. Hal did not talk much, nor was he adventurous, as if he learned how to be only by observing what could go wrong. He became a baker, which is to say a tradesman, rather than a professional. Robert and Althea, without any obvious encouragement, didn’t involve themselves with Hal’s life choices.
But Robert must have respected Hal enough to take that long drive with him and discuss what would happen after his, Robert’s, death. Or perhaps he thought Hal was good enough to care for her.
But why hadn’t Robert discussed that care with her? Why had he and Hal taken her to an estate attorney and had her sign over power of attorney to Hal? Everything was under Robert’s control, while she, who was a capable, powerful woman, had no power at all. Why had Hal been given the whole inheritance with the stipulation that he would renovate her home, building on this grandmother suite or whatever the heck it was called?
