Chang-Rae Lee - On Such A Full Sea

Of course, where Fan was on Betty’s Lane will be viewed by some as a most unnatural version of our plan, given how swiftly (if sometimes not so smoothly) their realm was realized, and operated not via equally shared labors but through the pressured application of unbounded wealth; but we must point out, too, that at least Oliver and Betty had, in their exactingly purposeful Charter mode, thought everything through, selecting in and out the best and worst of our ways, which can only be to their credit, and our tradition does not naturally demand that they bear the consequences of such overreaching control. Most times nothing happens. People do get away.

And when they don’t, maybe it’s just the turning of the Earth, such that some bit of light plashes across their path too early or too late. For we think for Oliver and Betty it was like that. One day Oliver gathered everyone including the helpers to relate some disappointing news, namely that they could not yet go forward with the basement pool and gym project because of certain zoning restrictions, telling only Betty that it was, in fact, because the bank was reviewing their credit lines, which were now temporarily suspended. All Fan knew was that he somehow looked grayer in the temples, grayer in the cheeks, and although he’d position himself as ever in the middle of the kitchen chaos, he picked lifelessly at his plate, downing only his unsweetened iced coffees, one right after the other, generally appearing badly dispatched enough that Betty had begun to sneak extra cream and whey protein into the drinks, which fortunately he didn’t seem to notice. Each new day that passed, two of them, three, then five or six, without word from the law firm of the contract being signed seemed to increase the time he spent up in his study, saying he was going over their financial accounts, though of course the conclusion was always instantly the same. They were running low on money, and there was no money coming in. The last few pieces of furniture and decorative items and artworks were still being delivered morning and afternoon, but a telling sign was that their wrappings and packages were no longer being opened, Betty having instructed the helpers simply to leave them for now, that she’d do it herself later. In fact, Betty now often lingered up in Oliver’s study after bringing him something to eat, and it was soon left to Fan to decide what she and the kids and the helpers would do with their day, what they would eat, when they’d retire, even when they’d arise. Betty had had the helpers set up a cot in Oliver’s study so that he could simply fall asleep, usually near dawn, in something other than his desk chair, Betty herself often staying up with him. It was usually completely silent up there, but sometimes there’d be a fit of arguing in the middle of the night, loud enough to wake one of the twins. Most often it was midday when they’d finally come down, usually Oliver before Betty, as his thirst for his drink would rouse him.

But then one morning, just after Fan put Josey on the shuttle, they came down together, both showered and neatly dressed, Oliver in a crisply pressed shirt and flannel slacks and Betty, to Fan’s instant notice, wearing the outfit matching the one she had for reuniting with Reg.

We did it, Oliver said, raising his hands. Betty was covering her mouth.

The contract? Fan said.

Yes! they both said. It went through!

The helpers started hopping and clapping, and Fan did, too.

But then Oliver nudged Betty, and she gasped: And also Reg!

Fan didn’t know what to say.

Go up and change, Fan, Betty told her, tears in her eyes.

It’s a long drive to where he is, Oliver said. So let’s get ready. We’ll want to leave soon.

What hasty preparations we make for our future. Think of it: it seems almost tragic, the things we’re sure we ought to bring along. We pack too heavy with what we hope we’ll use, and too light of what we must. We thus go forth misladen, ill equipped for the dawn.

But not so our Fan. She wasn’t a prophetic one, as we know, or always ever ready, nor was she chosen, at last, to lead anyone but herself. For at every turn, whether she bore a full satchel or one slim or nothing at all, she stood resolved, her boldness not one that simply pushed her forward but rather fixed her, solid, on the very spot she found herself. Where you are . Did this make her impervious? Heroic and wise? Not at all. She was as subject to chance and malice as the rest of us. She could only entertain hopes for the future. But we know very well that there was a quality about this rootedness, which, unlike the rest of us, she never bemoaned or fought or disbelieved, that every person who met her couldn’t help but recognize with a gentle trembling.

Betty accompanied Fan upstairs. Despite Oliver’s advice that they should soon get on the road — only he was going to go with her in the livery car, as it might end up an overnight or maybe two, with Betty staying back with the kids — she suggested Fan take a soaking bath, after which Betty said she would paint her nails and help her with her hair, which was still in a simple bob. Maybe they would get the curling iron out, or even give Fan a wave, one of the helpers likely having a box of instant perm. While the tub was filling (and seasoned with several scoops of Betty’s fancy lavender-scented salts), Fan packed a small overnight bag, a blouse and nice sweater and a pair of jeans Betty had recently bought for her. That was going to be all but Betty thought she should take along a few more outfits, in case they allowed her to see him through several days. So Pinah brought up a much bigger bag, this one with wheels, and after merely half filling it with the various options of what they’d laid out on the bed, Betty went ahead and larded on other pieces from Fan’s closet, leaving just enough room for a toiletries bag.

You never know what you’ll feel like, Betty said, telling her that even if it was only another day’s visit, she’d have plenty of choices for what she might like to wear. Really, who could tell until right then!

This seemed reasonable enough, of course, though while she lay in the slightly too warm bath, her head propped on an air pillow, Fan must have felt that something was amiss, that Betty was being a bit too indulgent, even for her. Had they changed their mind about her and Reg residing there? Had it been just their sentimental dream? If this was so, we are sure, she would tell Reg that she was only grateful for their company, for their care and aid, and that she would miss Josey and the twins and the helpers, too, for all the good mayhem and laughter, and that she did not regret a moment along Betty’s Lane. No need to linger.

So she rose from the tub and peeked into the bedroom and was surprised to see that Betty was still sitting on the bed, awaiting her while messaging on her handscreen. Betty quickly put it in her pocket when she noticed Fan. They did her nails, finishing them plainly with a clear lacquer, and they decided in the end that Betty should simply give her ends a trim, so that she would look fresh and neat. In fact, after the cut and the lightest dabbing of blush Betty applied, she looked as fit and fine as ever, perhaps never so much life arisen in her face. While Pinah and now another helper, Violet, took down her bag, Fan changed into the special outfit, and when she came out, Betty took her hand and they regarded themselves in the mirrored doors of the closet passage, the two of them looking like any sister divers back in B-Mor.

Are you ready? Betty asked her.

Fan nodded.

They went down the stairs together. The front door was open and through the clear pane of the storm door they could see Pinah and Violet letting the bag bump down each stoop step to the sidewalk. Betty now said she had to call about a furniture delivery and that Fan should wait outside. Her car was coming any minute.