“What the hell are you talking about?” he repeated, screaming. “Why would my mother let her in the house?”
Anne may have misjudged her timing. She looked at him, concerned he was going to go crazy right in the car. It was too late to defuse the situation; he had taken her bait.
“What is with the people in this family being taken in by that woman? First, Jack, then Pam, now my mother?” Bill put his head in his hands.
Anne could see that he was on the edge, but she thought of something that might cool it down. “I think Sandra might be helping out with some of the bills.” Anne had no idea if it was true, but it sounded good. Hopefully, it would calm him down and give her time to get them home safely. Then if and when he found out that it was a lie, she would deal with it. The conversation was over, that much was clear.
“Can we go home now?” Bill whined.
Anne put the key back in the ignition and started the engine. They didn’t say another word to each other as Anne aimed the car toward the Triboro Bridge.
R
hinebeck, New York, is home to the Culinary Institute of American. Jeff Babcock, retired attorney and recent graduate of the CIA, was an accomplished chef. By Sunday, eating disorder–sufferer Marie Fabian discovered that life with Jeff meant three home-cooked meals, homemade desserts, and the best American wines available. They spent part of Saturday and Sunday shopping for food, going into Hyde Park for groceries, and then returning to Rhinebeck for early varieties of vegetables at the farmers’ market. Marie fought the urge to look at her watch. Jeff chose early peas, beans, and tricolor carrots with care; he would wash them one at a time and tenderly steam them with a delicate shallot butter sauce.
The kitchen in his Rhinebeck house was a cook’s delight, with high-end professional appliances, gleaming marble pastry countertops, and ample seating for guests, all designed to fit a ten-foot-by-ten-foot space. Marie decided she wouldn’t invite him to her apartment, after all; she used her oven to store shoes. While Jeff cooked, she sat on a stool at the counter, sipping a glass of wine, nibbling the vegetables he had prepared for her, bored to tears. There was plenty of time for him to find out the truth about Marie and her relationship with food.
“This wine is amazing,” Marie slurred. “These carrots are wonderful, too.” She pushed the image of Jack Smith
grilling steaks on the veranda, along with that of her last meal of SpaghettiOs the other night, out of her mind. She willed this new picture of a handsome gentleman wearing a red-and-white-striped apron that his daughter sewed for him, standing at the stove, cooking just for her. She wasn’t having much success.
“Thank the weather for both,” he said. “Our growing season has been phenomenal in spite of the heavy snow last spring.” Marie stifled a yawn. He turned from the stove, pan in hand, and dished a small crab cake onto a saucer, topping it with a creamy béarnaise sauce. “Here, try this,” he said. “Those crabs we got this morning? And the eggs from the farmers’ market? You won’t get anything fresher than this.”
Marie picked up a fork to take a bite of the crab cake. She heard a
snap
where the thin, browned crust broke, exposing the tender interior. “Oh my God,” she moaned as she tasted how delicious the crab cake was. “This is better than sex.” She closed her eyes and chewed. Realizing what she had just said, the food turned to dust in her mouth.
Oops
.
Jeff was smiling at her. He obviously didn’t think the comment was inappropriate, nor did he pick up on it and say anything in return. He began eating one as well. The late afternoon was spent eating and talking and drinking a generous amount of Jeff’s wine collection. By 7:00, reality hit. She had an hour drive home and was feeling more than a little woozy.
“I better make some coffee,” Jeff said. “You can have dessert and then think about leaving.”
Marie didn’t want to go back home, though. She didn’t want to go to work on Monday or pretend she liked her apartment anymore. The contrast of this kind man with his homey place and her lonely, dead neighborhood and office full of unfriendly, uninterested people made Marie recognize that she needed to make some changes in her life. Everything about the way she lived spoke of Jack; it was arranged to make it convenient for him to get to her. With Jack dead and gone, there was no reason on earth she should stay there. But where would she go? Babylon? She could never afford it. The thought of moving from her apartment was exhausting. Maybe she would wait a little longer. She heard that, after a spouse dies, widows should wait one year before doing anything drastic like moving. Maybe it applied to sisters-in-law, too. Could she wait that long? Would she be able to tolerate being miserable for another year?
They finished eating and then came the inevitable. Jeff looked at his watch.
“Maybe you better think about getting on the road,” he said. She felt a little put off that he wasn’t asking her to stay another night, encouraging her to leave for the city in the morning. He went up the stairs with her, standing in the doorway as she gathered up her belongings and stuffed things into her suitcase.
“Well, thanks for coming up!” he said. “We will have to do it again. Next month is the big Food Fest; if you liked this weekend, you’ll love Food Fest weekend.”
The phone in his hallway started ringing. Looking at it sideways, he gave up and went to answer it. Whispering, he hung up, his anxiety palpable. He picked up her suitcase
and followed her down the stairs and out the front door, carrying it to her car. He stowed her case in the trunk and then turned to hug her good-bye.
“Drive safely,” he said as he held the car door opened for her as she got in.
She smiled up at him, tired but okay to drive. She could hear more telephone-ringing coming from the house; he began fidgeting and glancing back at the house as she fumbled buckling her seat belt.
“Thanks again,” she said. “Talk to you later?”
He nodded yes, and as she backed out of the driveway, yawning, it occurred to her that he hadn’t kissed her. Jeff was running back to his house. She didn’t wait until she was out of Rhinebeck to pull over to the side of the road and stick her finger down her throat.
T
here is only so much cleaning that can be done to a small apartment, so by Saturday afternoon, Sandra was getting restless and decided to take Bernice Smith up on her offer. She showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and then picked up the phone to call her. Her maid answered the phone, but within seconds, Bernice was there, animated, hopeful.
“My dear! I am so glad you called! What can I do for you?” Sandra was always a little confused by the jubilance that her calls elicited, but let it go.
What does Bernice expect of me?
“Hi, Bernice, I was hoping to take you up on your offer for a visit. Is it okay if I come by now?”
Bernice hesitated just a second. “Why, of course! I’ll send Ben. Stay right where you are!”
The weather was hot and muggy, so Sandra took the offer of the limousine. It was better than having to find a cab on a Saturday afternoon. “Thank you, I’ll accept the ride this time!” She said good-bye and went to gather up her purse and put her shoes on. She had a pleasant emptiness in her head; going to Bernice’s meant a wonderful meal, total comfort, and relaxation, truly the best of the good life. Sandra knew it was at Pam’s expense. Bernice rang the bell for Mildred as soon as she hung up from talking with Sandra. Mildred came right away.
“Yes, madam,” she said. It was the fifth time that morning that the bell had summoned her; she was having a time of it with pain in her back bad enough to keep her up all night. And now Bernice was acting like she did in the old days, keeping the staff running for no apparent reason. Mildred decided she may have to say something if this was another call just so Bernice would know she wasn’t alone.
“Sandra Benson, Jack’s young woman, is coming. Will you let Ben know? He has her address. And I’ll want luncheon served as soon as she gets here. Please tell Cook.”
Mildred turned to leave, rolling her eyes. When she got back to the kitchen, she relayed the messages to Ben and Alice.
Alice was pouring coffee for them. “How I am supposed to fix a luncheon with no food? Someone needs to tell her so she can wake up from her fairytale.” She went to a desk where her menus and recipe books were arranged neatly. “I’ll have to do something with bread; that I can make from scratch. Today we need to tell her, the three of us.”
“What are we supposed to say?” Ben said. Then he laughed. “Good luck with that! She won’t care if there is no money! ‘Just do it!’ will be her answer.” Her three devoted house staff were all thinking the same thing, but no one was saying it out loud:
Our days here are numbered
.
Alice decided on a simple lunch of puff pastry stuffed with chicken salad. She could make enough of that for two women with the leftovers from last night’s dinner. They would last another day.
Ben left to get Sandra, when the phone rang. Mildred picked it up. She put the caller on hold, whispering to
Alice as she left the kitchen to get Bernice to take the call, “The prodigal son.”
Alice shook her head with raised eyebrows. “Oh boy!”
Mildred came back a few minutes later. “Three for luncheon.”
Bernice was excited! She knew Bill might be released from prison early, but a whole month! It was just testimony to his innocence that he was out already and to his love for her as his mother that he just arrived home and wanted to come to see her. It didn’t occur to her that he might have bad news. She went up to her bedroom to prepare for her guests. The idea that she would have both her beloved son and the unborn baby of her late son in the house at the same time thrilled her. She had forgotten the screaming scene when she told Bill about the baby. Bernice had a tendency to idealize even the most distorted encounter.
She freshened her makeup and dabbed perfume behind her ears. Her sons were proud of their mother’s exquisite grooming and appearance. She didn’t want to let Bill down. Her failing eyesight hid the food stains on the front of her shirt from her view, and she couldn’t remember the last time she showered. It would not be missed by her child.
She heard the car pull around; Sandra must have arrived. She left the seclusion of her bedroom and slowly walked down the stairs, aware that she had grown frail this summer. She no longer went to the gym; the membership was too expensive to continue. She didn’t walk much. At her age, decline happened rapidly if you didn’t watch it.
Sandra was standing in the entryway, waiting for Bernice to descend. They waved to each other.
“Hi! Thank you for having me!” Sandra said, doing her best to hide her shock at Bernice’s appearance. She met her at the bottom stair, and they embraced. “How are you?” she asked, trying to keep the concern from her voice. She had lost weight, and the most worrisome was the condition of her clothes and hair. Always pristine, she was almost slovenly today.
“I’m doing well! But what about you?” she asked, looking down at Sandra’s still flat belly.
She’s entering her second trimester; shouldn’t she be showing at least a little bit?
“Oh, we’re just fine, with the emphasis on
we
,” she laughed.
Bernice took Sandra’s arm, and they walked together toward the den. Sandra would have to speak to Pam about Bernice’s appearance.
“By the way, Bill is coming over for lunch, too. You’ll get to meet him under better circumstances.” Bernice looked at Sandra to gauge her reaction to this news. It wasn’t good.
“Well, I better leave, then.” She shook off Bernice’s arm and headed for the door.
“Wait! Please, Sandra. I didn’t set this up; he just called, truly. Not five minutes ago. Won’t you see him? Give him a chance to apologize to you.”
Sandra thought,
Yeah, like that is going to happen
. But she did slow down.
Why didn’t I just stay home today?
“Bill has no reason to apologize to me, but that doesn’t mean I approve of what he did. He left Jack to die on the train and then tried to kill Pam’s mother. He should
tell you and Pam he’s sorry, not me.” Sandra could feel her voice getting shrill, but it was too late. They would have it out now, something she had wanted to avoid at all costs.
“But Jack didn’t die on the train. Pam told me. He died at the hospital.” Bernice was acting confused, like she was hearing something she hadn’t heard before. Then, “Why does everyone say he dropped dead on the train? I loathe that visual!” Bernice sat down on the closest chair and, with face covered, started to weep.
It was at this inopportune time that Bill decided to bust through the front door like a linebacker. “Mother!” he yelled for her. “I’m home!” The cheerfulness stopped as soon as he saw Bernice slumped over in a chair up against the entryway wall. “Mother! What in God’s name! What the hell is wrong with her?” he yelled, seeing Sandra for the first time. “What’d you say to her?”
“Calm down, Bill,” Bernice said, trying to pull herself together. “We were just having a moment, Sandra and I.” She sat up straight and started to dig through her pockets for a tissue.
It was then that Bill noticed his mother had changed in the past sixty days. The toll his incarceration had taken on her surpassed what the death of both her husband and son did. “Mother, for God’s sake, what happened to you?” he said without restraint.