Chapter 16
“Anne-Lynn called me last night and said she’s planning to have Thanksgiving in Oakland,” Nora said, pouring coffee for Fred. “She’s spending the holiday with my mother instead of with her family.” She set the cup down hard, annoyed that he hadn’t looked up from his morning newspaper. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard, Nora. I know about it already.”
“What do you mean, you know?”
“Annie called last Wednesday and mentioned the idea to me. It sounded like a good one.”
Nora steamed. “Where was I while this was going on?”
“As I remember, you were shopping.” He lowered the newspaper enough to look her in the eye. “You said you were going to get a head start on Christmas this year.”
She remembered now. She had purchased a power suit in cornflower-blue silk for her daughter. It had cost three hundred dollars, not counting all the accessories—shoes, purse, scarf, gold pin with pearls—she had purchased to go with it. She kept imagining how stunning Anne-Lynn would look in the ensemble. Blue to match her eyes. Now Nora wanted to take everything back! Why should she give Anne-Lynn anything when the ungrateful little wretch betrayed her at every turn?
She glared at the newspaper Fred had raised like a shield. “Why didn’t you say anything to me about this before now?” She wanted to rip that paper out of his hands and tear it to shreds.
Sighing, Fred folded the newspaper abruptly and glanced at her, his brows drawing together in irritation. “Because Annie said she would call you back and talk to you herself, which she has now done.” He spoke through tight lips. “Besides that, I have no intention of getting into the middle of this ridiculous situation between you and your daughter and your mother.”
“Ridiculous?” She controlled her urge to scream at him. “I could use some support, Fred.” She was proud of the cool timbre of her voice.
“You’re the one who declared war, Nora, long before I was in the territory. I’ve chosen to remain neutral.”
“That’s as good as saying you’re on Anne-Lynn’s side. Or my mother’s.”
He closed the newspaper and tossed it on the table the same way he would toss a gauntlet. His eyes sparked. “What’s wrong with Annie doing Thanksgiving at your mother’s this year? It’s an act of kindness.”
“Kindness? Is that what you think?” She gave a brittle laugh. “She knows very well I want to have Thanksgiving here, in our home. My mother knows that, too.”
“Why? So you can complain again about how much work it is for you and how no one ever appreciates what you do? Or so you can exclude your mother for another year?”
She caught her breath, and heat rose into her cheeks. “My mother can come if she wants.”
“How magnanimous of you,” he said dryly.
“That’s not fair! I’ve invited her before. She’s the one who’s always chosen to stay away.”
“Last I heard, your mother didn’t have a driver’s license. Has that changed? Did you ever once offer to pick her up or arrange a ride for her?”
Her skin went cold. “She can arrange her own ride.”
He shook his head, gazing at her sadly. “Michael treats you the same way you treat your mother. Did you ever think about that, Nora? You taught him well, didn’t you?”
Quick tears came to her eyes. “Michael loves me.”
“What a cruel thing to say to me!” Her mouth jerked.
“I’ve been married to you for five years, Nora, and I’ve never heard you say one kind thing about your mother. And the few times I’ve had the opportunity to meet Leota, I’ve found her to be charming.”
“Yes, charming. Charm is deceitful.”
“And beauty is vain.” He stood up. “I’m going to work.” He took his jacket from the back of the chair and picked up his briefcase. “When you and Annie figure out where we’re having Thanksgiving, let me know and I’ll be there. Unless, of course, I’ve been uninvited.”
She held back tears of resentment. “Maybe I’ll just go away for that weekend and have Thanksgiving all by myself! That’d make everyone happy, wouldn’t it?”
“There’s a thought.” He left the room without a backward glance.
The quaking started inside her. Would her family be happier if she went off by herself and left them alone to celebrate Thanksgiving any way they wanted and with whomever they wanted?
Thanksgiving at her mother’s! Thanksgiving in a cramped, prewar cottage surrounded by run-down houses in the middle of a ghetto. How delightful! Nora picked up Fred’s coffee cup and carried it to the sink, dumping the contents before she put it and the saucer into the dishwasher. She ran water to wash away the coffee. What did Anne-Lynn know about stuffing and baking a turkey? Nothing! The only thing Nora had ever had her do for Thanksgiving was go to the florist and pick up the centerpiece, then set the table and help with cleaning up the dishes later. Last year George and his family had come for dinner. His wife, Jeanne, had brought two homemade pies, one pumpkin and the other mincemeat. The pies had been so-so, certainly not of the quality Nora could have made. The scoops of whipping cream she had put on each slice had helped. Annie had spent most of the day babysitting Mitzi and Marshall, while Jeanne got in Nora’s way in the kitchen. Typically male, George and Fred hadn’t lifted a finger to help. They’d been too busy watching a football game.
Anne-Lynn fixing Thanksgiving dinner. What a fiasco that would be!
Fred’s words made her conscience squirm. It was true she hadn’t made any arrangements for her mother in the past. Then again, George could have offered to swing by in his fancy Mercedes and pick her up. Even if it was out of his way. Was she supposed to do everything herself?
Thanksgiving would be so much better here.
She knew she’d get nowhere talking with Anne-Lynn. Picking up the telephone, she pressed in her mother’s number and waited, breathing deeply to calm her emotions.
“Hello?”
“Mother, this is Nora. I think it’d be much better if I had Thanksgiving here again this year. You’re invited, of course.”
“I’m sorry; I can’t hear you very well.”
“Maybe you’d hear better if you turned the television off!”
“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.” She hung up.
Nora let out her breath sharply. It was the second time her mother had hung up on her. Was Leota losing her mind as well as her hearing? She pressed in the number again, striving for control over her temper.
“Mother, it’s Nora!”
“Eleanor? Oh, hello, dear. How are you?”
Nora gritted her teeth. Did her mother use that name just to irritate her? “I called about Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, Annie and I will be delighted you can make it.”
“I didn’t say—”
“It’ll be wonderful! Just like old times! She has everything planned.”
Old times? What good was there in having it like old times? “Mother! I want to have Thanksgiving here, at my house.”
There was a pause. “Then we have a problem, don’t we? Why don’t you come over and we can talk about it?”
“I don’t want to come over there.”
“I know you don’t. You never want to come here. Why is that, Eleanor?”
“I think you know.”
“Why don’t you come over and tell me?”
“Why are you making things so difficult?” she cried out in frustration.
“I don’t have a long time left to live, Eleanor. I’m tired of waiting for things to get better between us. I’m in my eighties, and I’m not feeling up to snuff. I’d like to see us sort things out before I’m gone.”
“There’s nothing for me to sort out.” Did she want absolution? Fat chance! “Besides, you’ll live to be a hundred.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. When there was no response, she frowned, annoyed by the twinge of shame she felt. Fred’s words came back to haunt and anger her: “Michael treats you the same way you treat your mother.” Why should she think of that now? And why should she feel guilty when her mother had been the one to dump her children on others while she chose to work? “Mother, why won’t you be reasonable? You know very well there isn’t enough room over there to have Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Come on over and we’ll talk about it.”
“I have better things to do than argue with you.”
“Have it your way, but if we don’t talk it over, Annie will be here for Thanksgiving. We’ll miss you.” The line went dead again.
Nora said a foul word and slammed the telephone back onto the charger. “All right, Mother. You asked for it. I’ll come. And I’ll give you a good piece of my mind when I get there!”
Leota had forgotten it was Wednesday. She might not have been so set on firing up Eleanor’s dander had she remembered Corban was coming by to take her shopping. She didn’t remember until he rang the doorbell and she saw him through the sheer curtains. “Oh, dear,” she said, annoyed with herself. Eleanor would be in her car by now, winging her way over for battle.
Thankfully, he had learned to give her plenty of time to get out of her chair and make it to the door. Leota was all ready to apologize and send him home when she got a look at his face. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Did somebody die?” She unlatched the screen door and let him in.
“Everything’s just fine, Leota.”
“You know better than to lie to me. I thought we had that understood a long time ago.” He looked like he hadn’t slept since she had seen him last. He was pale, with dark shadows under his eyes—and more tense than she’d ever seen him.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “Is that okay with you?”
“Pretty good indication it’s something that needs talking out.”
“Lay off, Leota. I’m not in the mood today. Are you ready to go shopping or not?”
“I forgot it was Wednesday.”
“You want me to come back another day?”
“No. I need some things for Thanksgiving.” She couldn’t leave and risk Eleanor showing up while she was gone, nor did she want to send Corban home when he clearly needed to get something off his chest whether he thought he did or not. “I’ll write up the list and give you the money. You can take care of shopping for me today. How will that be?”
“Fine.”
“You’ve still got the key to my house, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Are you sure you want me to keep it?”
“I think I can trust you not to come back in the dead of night and rob me blind. Besides, it’s a safety precaution. What if I collapse sometime and you can’t get in to get me up off the floor?”
He didn’t look amused.
Corban hadn’t been gone thirty minutes when Nora arrived on Leota’s doorstep.
Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, help me get through to my daughter. Help me . . .
Leota opened the door. “Hello, Eleanor. I’m glad you could come.”
“Did I have a choice?” she said before the door was even unlatched. “We could’ve settled this over the telephone.” She stepped into the house. She didn’t look into Leota’s eyes, but made a sweeping glance of the room, her face tightening as though everything about it brought back unwelcome memories. She noticed Barnaby and grimaced. “A parrot?”
“A rainbow lory, Annie tells me. Barnaby belongs to Susan Carter, but he’s had a nervous breakdown and needs quiet and rest. That bird cost five hundred dollars. Can you believe that? A policeman gave him to Susan. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll fix us some coffee?”
“I don’t want coffee.”
“Tea?”
“Not tea, not water, not anything. I don’t have time.”
Leota eased herself back into her recliner. She looked at her daughter where she sat on the edge of the sofa. She was dressed in elegant gray slacks, a white silk shirt, and a charcoal tweed blazer. She wore gold earrings and necklace, and dark-gray leather pumps with edges of brown across the tops to match the bag she hadn’t unlooped from her shoulder. Her hands, nails perfectly manicured and painted red, gripped her knees.
One false word. Leota knew that was all it would take and her daughter would be on her feet and out the front door in a huff. “It’s nice to see you, dear. You had your hair cut since I saw you last.” It was shorter, just below her ears, layered and in soft frosted curls.
“I suppose you don’t like it.”
“I like it very much. It frames your face very nicely.” Her daughter always did have a wonderful sense of style.
“Thank you,” Eleanor said, a sour twist to her lips. “I came to discuss the arrangements for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“We’ve invited George and Jeanne and the children. Jeanne says she’s sure they can make it. She’s going to bring a couple of pies. You can bring something, too, if you like, though it’s not necessary. Annie plans to have the food on the sideboard back there. Everyone can serve him- or herself that way. We’ll set the nook table for Mitzi and Marshall, and the adults can sit at the dining room table.”
“There’s not enough room around your table.”
“There will be when we put the table leaves in. They’ve been stored in the bedroom closet.”
“You haven’t the money for a nice centerpiece.”
“I have a garden.”
“Yes. You have a garden. How could I forget?” She pressed her lips together when her mother said nothing. “It’d be easier and much better if we had Thanksgiving at my house.”
“I haven’t had Thanksgiving here in years, Eleanor.”
“You never fixed Thanksgiving dinner, Mother. Not once, that I can remember. Grandma Reinhardt is the one who had it because this was her home and not ours. And she did all the work.”
“Just the way you do.”
Eleanor lifted her chin slightly. “It’s one of the things I enjoy doing for my family.”
“About as much as Mama Reinhardt did, I would imagine.”
Eleanor said nothing for a couple of seconds. Leota could feel the undercurrent and was afraid of being sucked under.
“Annie can’t cook,” Eleanor said finally.
“You might be surprised what Annie can do.”
“Shocked, more likely. It’ll be a disaster and you know it. Is that what you want? To see her humiliated?”
“It’ll only be a disaster if you make it so.”
“If it all goes wrong, you’ll blame me. Is that it?”
“No one has ever cast blame on you, Eleanor.” She held her breath for two seconds and then said it straight out, once and for all: “I was always the scapegoat.”
“Oh, that’s rich, Mother. You escaped every bit of responsibility you ever had! Two children. Remember us? You moved into Grandpa Reinhardt’s house and dumped us on Grandma so that you could go off and live the high life. Even when you came home, you were more interested in that garden than in me or George!”
“You have no idea of the circumstances—”
“No circumstances would make me dump my children. I’ve always been there for them. From the time they were babies I managed to be at home with them. I’m still at home for them.”
“And you think that makes you a better mother than I was?”
“Yes!” Nora’s eyes glittered with angry tears. “I do. I don’t think you ever had any idea of what being a mother was all about.”
Leota’s heart broke as she looked into her daughter’s eyes. How had they come to this impasse? Surely all that fury hid a sea of hurt, but how could Leota get through to her daughter and convince her she had always been loved? Leota had done what she thought was best . . . what she’d had to do. Eleanor looked away from Leota’s scrutiny and closed her eyes as though she couldn’t bear it.
“You have no idea how awful it was, do you, Mother?”
“No, I don’t.” She only knew how awful it had been for her. “Tell me.”
Eleanor looked back at her in despair. “Why should I? So you can make more excuses?”
Leota had no more time to waste playing who-was-right-and-who-was-wrong. “How many years will it be before you decide to move on with your life instead of blaming everything on the past?” She saw the flush pour into her daughter’s cheeks. Not from conviction, but from temper. So much for getting to the heart of things.
The sound of a key in the door drew their attention. Corban unlocked the front door.
Eleanor rose. “Who is this, and what’s he doing with a key to the house?” she said heatedly as Corban stepped into the room. He looked at Eleanor in surprise and then glanced at Leota.
“This is Corban Solsek. Corban, meet Eleanor Gaines, my daughter.”
“Nice to meet you.” His tone of voice said the opposite.
Leota nodded at him. “You can put those groceries in the kitchen and join us if you would like.”
“I’ve got another bag in the car.”
“Did I give you enough money?”
“More than enough. I’ll give you the change as soon as I put these things away.”
Eleanor sat rigidly on the sofa, watching and listening. Corban glanced at her again. “If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Gaines,” he said and headed for the kitchen.
“Are you completely out of your mind giving a stranger a key?” Eleanor said in an angry whisper. “Who is this person, and what do you know about him?”
“Corban’s been coming over to help me for several months now. Every Wednesday like clockwork.”
“How did you meet him?”
“I called an agency after seeing an ad on television.”
“Oh, Mother.”
Leota had had just about enough. “I need groceries. It’s a long walk to the market, uphill all the way home. I don’t drive. What would you have me do, Eleanor? Starve?”
“You can call in an order to a grocery store and they’ll deliver it.”
That would be nice and impersonal. And expensive. “I prefer this arrangement. Besides, Corban is good company.” Nothing like a discussion with him to get her blood up. “Sometimes he even drops by on the weekend and helps in the garden.” Not that he liked it much. She suspected he was becoming more interested in her granddaughter than in horticulture.
“What does George have to say about this?”
“Why should George have anything to say about it? He hasn’t called in months. I doubt he knows. He’s too busy with his business and family to have time to run over here and help me.”
“That’s just an excuse,” Eleanor said, clearly annoyed.
“Oh, you know how it is, Eleanor. I’m sure Michael is just as busy with his life, too.”
Eleanor’s eyes sparked. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing other than what I said. Why are you always so defensive about everything I say? All I mean is it’s nice to have company once in a while. Corban is welcome here anytime he wants to drop by. I’m not sending him away.”
“Just like you won’t send Anne-Lynn home, even when you know it’s where she belongs.”
“If you wanted Annie at home, why were you going to send her off to Wellesley?”
Eleanor blushed dark red. “It would’ve been better for her future than art school.”
“She’s very gifted, Eleanor. Just as you were.”
“Oh. You’re an art expert now?”
“I know what I like.”
“Leota!” Corban called from the kitchen. “Where do you want your Metamucil?”
“Above the sink! Cabinet to the left with the water glasses. You can put it on the bottom shelf with the vitamins and aspirin.”
“He calls you Leota?” Eleanor was clearly scandalized.
“What would you have him call me? Grandma Moses?”
“Mrs. Reinhardt would be more appropriate.”
“He’s a friend. I told him to call me Leota.”
“How do you know he isn’t just worming his way in here in hopes you’ll leave him something in your will?”
That gave Leota pause. Was that what worried Eleanor? Not concern for her mother’s safety or fear that someone might be taking advantage of an old lady? It was her inheritance, such as it was. “What would I leave him that matters to you, Eleanor? You hate everything about this house. There isn’t a thing I have that you want.” At least, that was what Eleanor had always said. Had she changed her mind?
“Are you saying you’re going to put him in your will?”
“We aren’t discussing my will. I’m asking you what you want!”
Eleanor’s eyes flickered. She looked embarrassed and ashamed, then angry.
Would Eleanor ever understand that she was the daughter of her mother’s heart? What more could Leota do to make it clear? “If there’s anything in this house that means anything to you, Eleanor, anything at all, all you’ve got to do is tell me and I’ll make sure you have it.”
Face pinched, Eleanor got up and went to the front window, drawing the curtain aside. Was she checking to make sure the hubcaps were still on her car?
Corban came back into the living room. Leota saw by the look on his face that he was ready to go. “Why don’t you heat some water, and we can have some of that cappuccino Annie brought last week?”
Eleanor let the curtain drop back into place. Barnaby moved to the far end of his perch, as far away from her as he could get. She turned and glanced pointedly at her wristwatch. “I said I don’t want any coffee, Mother. I’m late enough as it is.”
“You wouldn’t mind if Leota had cappuccino, would you?” Corban’s tone was pure ice.
“Excuse me?”
He made a point of ignoring Eleanor as he looked at Leota. “Would you like some cappuccino, Leota?”
She tried not to smile at his defensive manner. Who would have known . . . ? “Yes, I would.”
“I’ll fix it then.” He went back into the kitchen.
Eleanor stared after him in consternation. “I’ve never met anyone so rude.”
“He’s just being protective of me. Oh, I know he could use a bit of polishing, but then, so could we all.”
Eleanor shifted the strap of her shoulder bag and straightened her jacket. “Are we settled now about Thanksgiving?”
“Absolutely. Annie and I will have Thanksgiving dinner here. I hope you’ll join us.”
Eleanor’s cheeks flushed. “We’ll talk about it more later.” Yanking the front door open, she walked out, banging it shut behind her.
Corban came out of the kitchen a few minutes later with a cup of steaming cappuccino. He set it carefully on her side table. “Careful. It’s hot.”
“Thank you, Corban. What about you?”
“No, thanks,” he said glumly. “Sorry if I was rude, Leota.” He nodded toward the closed front door. “Annie’s mother, right? Boy, is she a piece of work.”
She looked up at him. “You could both do with some tenderizer. Sit down, Corban.”
“I’d better get going.”
“Not yet.” She nodded toward the sofa. “Sit and tell me what’s troubling you.”
He sat, looking pale and strained. Leaning forward, he raked his hands back through his hair. When he raised his head again, she saw he was struggling not to cry. He shook his head. “I can’t.”
Leota watched the struggle. She could feel his grief as though it were her own, even not knowing the cause. He reminded her of Bernard. “Confession’s good for the soul, Corban. Have you ever heard that?”
“I’m not a religious man.”
“I’m talking about faith, not religion.”
“I’m not a man of faith either.” A muscle jerked in his cheek. “Besides, I’m not the one who needs to be confessing.”
“If you talk about it, get it out in the open, it’ll lose its power over you.”
He shook his head again. “It’s too soon,” he said in a choked voice. He rose and looked at her in apology. “I’d better go. I wouldn’t be good company today.”
“You’re right. I would miss your usually sunny personality.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “Say hi to Annie when she calls you.”
“You know her number. If it’s easier to talk to her, give her a call. But get it off your chest, whatever it is.” As he turned away, she said his name and waited until he was looking at her again. “Don’t let the root of bitterness take hold, Corban. If you do, you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to pull it out.”
He closed the door quietly behind him. Leota heard his car roar to life. As the sound of it faded, despair came down over her like a suffocating blanket. She was all alone again. Her chest ached so terribly. She thought of Eleanor and George.
Nothing is ever going to change, she realized. All right, old woman. Accept it. Just get up and go into the kitchen and take those pills you’ve been hoarding for the past year. If one is supposed to keep your blood pressure down, the whole bottle ought to give you a peaceful passing.
The words startled her. “Annie?” Had her granddaughter come in quietly, without Leota noticing? How could that happen when she’d been sitting in her recliner facing the front door? Had Annie parked in the driveway and come in the back door? Leota looked around her chair, but didn’t see her. Maybe she’d fallen asleep and dreamed about taking all those pills and leaving the anguish of living behind her.
“I love you, Grandma.”
Leota stared in amazement. It was Barnaby, speaking in Annie’s voice. Clear. Sweet. Full of tenderness.
“Now you talk.” She was filled with disappointment. “Lord, did You ever stop to think that I’ve had enough? I’ve done all I can think to do. And I’m done. Finished. I’d rather be up there with You than down here in the middle of this mess. And if I have to do it myself . . .”
“I love you, Grandma.”
Annie. What would it do to Annie to find her grandmother’s body crumpled on the floor and then learn she’d swallowed a whole bottle of pills? Leota knew what it would do.
“I love you, Grandma.”
“Shut up. I heard you the first time.” She supposed this was His answer, too. I love you. Was He telling her to stop feeling sorry for herself and keep up the good fight?
“Most people get to retire . . .”
“I love you, Grandma.”
Fine, Lord. All right, all right! She knew very well if she went into the kitchen and swallowed all those pills, it would hurt Annie. No telling where she would pass out. She would hardly be a pretty sight, crumpled and dead and discovered several days later. Far from dignified.
“I love you, Grandma.”
“I heard you already. Now, eat some birdseed!”
But Barnaby kept it up all afternoon, until Leota’s fighting spirit was back in full measure—and she was ready to wring his scrawny neck.