Cathleen Schine - They May Not Mean To, But They Do

“That’s ridiculous. Karl was your father’s friend.”

“He’s your friend.”

“Am I not allowed to have friends now? What is wrong with you two?”

Molly offered her mother a cup of tea, which Joy accepted. She did not want tea. It would make her have to pee. And the kitchen was humid and hot. But she could see Molly trying to be civil. It was important to be civil. She had tried to teach her children that.

“Look, Mom, you can’t bring him to the bat mitzvah, okay? You just can’t. It wouldn’t look right. I mean, it’s only been a few months. It might, you know, embarrass Ruby.”

“Ruby? You mean it will embarrass you two, although god knows why.”

“You think he can take Dad’s place?” Molly said, all pretense at civility gone. “Well, he can’t. Ever.”

She was shouting now, and Daniel stomped down the stairs to join in: “The body is not even cold. How can you do this to us?”

Joy looked away from them, her two beloved children, yelling and stamping their feet like toddlers. Graying toddlers. She tilted her head back and looked at the ceiling and wondered if it might fall in and shut them up.

“What has Karl ever done to you?” she said softly.

There was silence, just the thunder, closer now, and the rain on the roof.

“Did you know that Karl asked me to live with him?”

“See?” Daniel said to Molly. “See? I told you.”

“Mommy! You can’t. You’ll turn into a caretaker.”

“Your father liked Karl. Your father would have wanted me to have some companionship. Your father would be ashamed of you both.”

They shifted uneasily.

“Yeah, well, still, it’s just…” Daniel’s words trailed off.

“And whether I choose to live with Karl or not,” Joy continued, “one thing I can see clearly now. I cannot stay in this house one day longer. I am not welcome. I do not belong.”

And she marched out, slammed her door, and began packing.

Duncan smiled and smiled, but he did not say much. If he was overwhelmed, he could hardly be blamed. His family had gathered around him from the four corners of the earth, as Gordon put it. There were grandchildren, too, Gordon’s kids, now quite grown up: one of them, the daughter, in college; the son engaged and holding the hand of his fiancée. Freddie was overwhelmed, so why shouldn’t her father be? None of it seemed quite real. Laurel and Pamela wore colorful sundresses, not identical in pattern, but complementary, and identical enough: four spaghetti straps cutting into four plump white shoulders. Freddie, who was wiry and always had been, who wore gray and always had, knew she looked a little dreary beside them, a caterpillar beside two butterflies. Her brothers were somewhat more soberly attired, but still in vacation costumes — and they did seem like costumes to Freddie, the golf shirt and white pleated Bermuda shorts of her brother Gordon, a similar golf outfit on his wife; the jeans and big silver belt buckle, the chestnut-colored cowboy boots Alan wore. But they probably thought she was in costume, the same costume she’d worn since the age of six. Jeans and a T-shirt. Only the grandchild generation looked right. Perhaps because they were at the Third Street Promenade in a pedestrian mall filled with other young people.

Freddie wearily followed the group into another shop. They seemed to be drawn to chain stores that also had outlets in their own countries. Duncan was a bit pale, but he shambled along behind them.

“Are you okay, Dad?”

He did not answer, but smiled, grabbed her arm to steady himself.

“Well, I’m exhausted,” Freddie said. “Maybe we should go sit down somewhere,” she said to her siblings, all of whom were trying on sunglasses.

They wanted to sit outside. It was winter where they lived. Wasn’t the sun beautiful and warm here in Los Angeles?

The beautiful warm Los Angeles sun beat down upon them. Freddie never sat in the sun as a rule, and certainly not in July. The air, even in Santa Monica, so near the beach, was blazing hot, dry as dust, and still. But her siblings were ecstatic. What a good time of year they had picked. What a perfect vacation. They began to trade tales of vacations that had gone wrong. Food poisoning, sharks, terrorism, cyclones, earthquakes.

They did not mention heart attacks. But that’s what Duncan had. The paramedics came and hustled him away in an ambulance. Freddie sat next to him, holding his hand. The rest of the family followed in a caravan of rented cars.

Joy was dressed and packed. The garbage bags, undisturbed since their arrival, could stay and rot for all she cared. She had stuffed her clothes and pills and creams into her California roller bag. She had called Mr. Bailey and he said he and Mother would be right over to drive her to the station.

She waited on the porch swing and pictured her apartment, dim, stuffy, mail piled high, Ben’s dirty dishes in the sink, though he had not even stayed there yet. It didn’t matter. It had to be better than staying here, where no one wanted her, where no one made room for her, and where, she now realized, no one trusted her.

“This is ridiculous, Joy,” Coco said. “You don’t have to go, and you certainly don’t have to take a car service. If you insist on leaving, let me drive you. I’m driving Molly to the station anyway.”

Molly was going back to California to be with Freddie, whose father was in pretty bad shape in the hospital.

“That’s quite all right.”

Coco stood in the doorway. Danny appeared behind her.

“Mom, come on. You’re acting crazy.”

Joy narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare call me crazy. The first step to sending the elderly to a home is saying they’re crazy. Well, just forget it. I’m not going to a home. I’m going to my home in New York. Since you’ve taken over this one.”

“Now you’re being paranoid.”

“Me? You’re the one who is paranoid, all this fuss about a simple invitation to a bat mitzvah.”

“She has a point,” Coco said. “What is the big deal?”

Danny stormed back inside, followed by Coco saying, “Well, really, Daniel, you’re being silly…”

“I have choices,” Joy yelled after them.

“She’s moving in with him,” Danny was shouting inside. “You didn’t believe me, but you hear her.”

“Oh, so what?” Coco said.

Joy dreaded the arrival of Mr. Bailey and his car. Her heart was hammering and her vertigo was sweeping in like nauseous fog. She was arguing with Danny, her dear sweet Danny. Why? Over Karl? I don’t want to live with him, she wanted to call out. I just want to invite him to my granddaughter’s celebration. I want someone there I can lean on, literally lean on the red walker that is just like Daddy’s walker; I want to smile at someone and be proud and have him see how proud I am instead of seeing a problem who has to be taken to the ladies’ room, who has to be helped down the stairs to the street, who has to be transported the three blocks from the synagogue to the restaurant.

Cora and Ruby came outside and settled themselves on the swing, one on either side.

“You can invite whoever you want,” Ruby said.

“I’m inviting a friend,” Cora said, “so I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, Daddy’s being silly.” Ruby sounded like Coco, dismissive; even her gesture, hands held up in mock surrender, reminded Joy of Coco. Without thinking, Joy said, “He is not.”

Molly was the next to perch on the swing to try to talk her out of going back to the city.

“You’re one to talk,” Joy said. “ You’re leaving. I don’t see why. You’re not a doctor. It’s not as if you can do anything for the old goat.”