Elizabeth Gilbert - Stern Men

“I told you. He’s big. He’s blond.”

“Are his eyes very blue?”

“That sounds like the title of a love song.”

“Are they very blue or not, Ruth?” She sounded slightly annoyed.

Ruth changed her tone. “Yes. They are very blue, Mrs. Pommeroy.”

“Do you want to know something funny, Ruth? I always secretly hoped you’d marry one of my boys.”

“Oh, Mrs. Pommeroy, no. ”

“I know. I know.”

“It’s just-”

“I know, Ruth. Look at them. What a bunch! You couldn’t end up with any of them. Fagan is a farmer. Can you imagine that? A girl like you could never live on a potato farm. John? Who knows about John? Where is he? We don’t even know. Europe? I can hardly remember what John’s like. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, I can hardly remember his face. Isn’t that a terrible thing for a mother to say?”

“I can hardly remember John either.”

“You’re not his mother, Ruth. And then there’s Conway. Such a violent person, for some reason. And now he walks with a limp. You’d never marry a man with a limp.”

“No limpers for me!”

“And Chester? Oh, boy.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Thinks he can tell fortunes? Rides around with those hippies?”

“Sells dope.”

“Sells dope?” Mrs. Pommeroy said, surprised.

“Just kidding,” Ruth lied.

“He probably does.” Mrs. Pommeroy sighed. “And Robin. Well, I have to admit I never thought you’d marry Robin. Not even when you were both little. You never thought much of Robin.”

“You probably thought he wouldn’t be able to ask me to marry him. He wouldn’t be able to pronounce it. It’d be like Would you pwease mawwey me, Woof? It would have been embarrassing for everyone.”

Mrs. Pommeroy shook her head and wiped her eyes quickly. Ruth noticed the gesture and stopped laughing.

“What about Webster?” Ruth asked. “That leaves Webster.”

“That’s the thing, Ruth,” Mrs. Pommeroy said, and her voice was sad. “I always thought you’d marry Webster.”

“Oh, Mrs. Pommeroy.” Ruth moved over on the couch and put her arm around her friend.

“What happened to Webster, Ruth?”

“I don’t know.”

“He was the brightest one. He was my brightest son.”

“I know.”

“After his father died…”

“I know.”

“He didn’t even grow any more.”

“I know. I know.”

“He’s so timid. He’s like a child. ” Mrs. Pommeroy wiped tears off both cheeks with the back of her hand-a fast, smooth motion. “Me and your mom both have a son that didn’t grow, I guess,” she said. “Oh, brother. I’m such a crybaby. How about that?” She wiped her nose on her sleeve and smiled at Ruth. They brought their foreheads together for a moment. Ruth put her hand on the back of Mrs. Pommeroy’s head, and Mrs. Pommeroy closed her eyes. Then she pulled back and said, “I think something was taken from my sons, Ruthie.”

“Yes.”

“A lot was taken from my sons. Their father. Their inheritance. Their boat. Their fishing ground. Their fishing gear.”

“I know,” Ruth said, and she felt a rush of guilt, as she had for years, whenever she thought of her father on his boat with Mr. Pommeroy’s traps.

“I wish I could have another son for you.”

“What? For me?”

“To marry. I wish I could have one more son, and make him normal. A good one.”

“Come on, Mrs. Pommeroy. All your sons are good.”

“You’re sweet, Ruth.”

“Except Chester, of course. He’s no good.”

“In their way, they’re good enough. But not good enough for a bright girl like you. I’ll bet I could get it right, you know, if I had another go at it.” Mrs. Pommeroy’s eyes teared up again. “Now, what a thing for me to say, a woman with seven kids.”

“It’s OK.”

“Besides, I can’t expect you to wait around for a baby to grow up, can I? Listen to me.”

“I am listening.”

“I’m talking crazy now.”

“A little crazy,” Ruth admitted.

“Oh, things don’t always work out, I guess.”

“Not always. I think they must work out sometimes.”

“I guess. Don’t you think you should go live with your mother, Ruth?”

“No.”

“There’s nothing out here for you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Truth is, I like having you around, but that’s not fair. There’s nothing here for you. It’s like a prison. It’s your little San Quentin. I always thought, ‘Oh, Ruth will marry Webster,’ and I always thought, ‘Oh, Webster will take over his dad’s lobster boat.’ I thought I had it all figured out. But there’s no boat.”

And there’s barely a Webster, Ruth thought.

“Don’t you ever think you should live out there?” Mrs. Pommeroy stretched out her arm and pointed. She had clearly intended to point west, toward the coast and the country that lay beyond it, but she was pointing in the dead-wrong direction. She was pointing toward the open sea. Ruth knew what she was trying to say, though. Mrs. Pommeroy, famously, did not have a great sense of direction.

“I don’t need to marry one of your sons to stay here with you, you know,” Ruth said.

“Oh, Ruth.”

“I wish you wouldn’t tell me I should go. I get that enough from my mom and Lanford Ellis. I belong on this island as much as anyone. Forget about my mother.”

“Oh, Ruth. Don’t say that.”

“All right, I don’t mean forget about her. But it doesn’t matter where she lives or who she lives with. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll stay here with you; I’ll go where you go.” Ruth was smiling as she said this, and nudging Mrs. Pommeroy the way Mrs. Pommeroy often nudged her. A teasing little poke, a loving one.

“But I’m not going anywhere,” Mrs. Pommeroy said.

“Fine. Me neither. It’s decided. I’m not budging. This is where I stay from now on. No more trips to Concord. No more bullshit about college.”

“You can’t make a promise like that.”

“I can do whatever I want. I can make even bigger promises.”

“Lanford Ellis would kill you if he heard you talking like that.”

“Hell with it. The hell with them. From now on, whatever Lanford Ellis says to do, I do the opposite. Fuck the Ellises. Watch me! Watch me, world! Look out, baby!”

“But why do you want to spend your life on this crappy island? These aren’t your people out here, Ruth.”

“Sure they are. Yours and mine. If they’re your people, they’re my people!”

“Listen to you!”

“I’m feeling pretty grand today. I can make big promises today.”

“I guess so!”

“You don’t think I mean any of it.”

“I think you say the sweetest things. And I think, in the end, you’ll do whatever you want.”

They sat out there on the porch couch for another hour or so. Opal wandered out a few more times in a bored and aimless way with Eddie, and Mrs. Pommeroy and Ruth took turns heaving him onto their laps and trying to bounce him around without hurting themselves. The last time Opal left, she didn’t go into the house; she wandered down toward the harbor, to go “downstreet to the store,” she said. Her sandals flip-flopped against her soles, and her big baby smacked his lips as he sat, heavy, on her right hip. Mrs. Pommeroy and Ruth watched the mother and baby descend the hill.

“Do you think I look old, Ruth?”

“You look like a millions bucks. You’ll always be the prettiest woman out here.”

“Look at this,” Mrs. Pommeroy said, and she lifted her chin. “My throat’s all droopy.”

“It is not.”

“It is, Ruth.” Mrs. Pommeroy tugged at the loose flesh under her chin. “Isn’t that horrible, how it hangs there? I look like a pelican.”