Dora appeared from the living room where she’d left the TV blaring. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Teddi said blankly, with an uncomprehending glance at the printed form in her hand.
Tears continued to slide down Mamie’s face. “Oh, Ricky! Bless your heart, son! Bless you!”
She groped for a handkerchief and wiped at her eyes and nose.
Dora came to stand beside Teddi, taking the paper out of her unresisting hand. She frowned as she scanned it, and then suddenly cried out in understanding. “Insurance! Before he got on that plane, Ricky bought flight insurance for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars!”
“It’s not that I wouldn’t have welcomed Ricky’s wife and child anyway,” Mamie managed to say, blowing her nose. “I would have seen that you were taken care of. But oh, what a difference this will make! A quarter of a million dollars!”
Teddi swallowed. Mamie had taken her in, after some papers had been filed to allow her to consider Teddi a foster child, and there was a small sum payable for her care, so she wasn’t completely a charity case. But she’d been wondering how Mamie could take on a daughter-in-law and a grandchild, and keep her, too.
She knew Mamie had a small pension, and there had been some savings when her husband died. Luckily the house was paid for, so there was no mortgage. Yet Teddi was fully aware that Mamie lived a basically frugal life, spending almost nothing on luxuries.
Teddi had traveled very little, and only once on an airplane. But she remembered overhearing a conversation between strangers at the airport regarding flight insurance. “It’s so cheap to buy insurance for one trip,” a wife had said to her husband. “What can it hurt?”
The couple had been laughing. “If my plane goes down, you’ll be the richest widow on Fourteenth Street,” the husband had pointed out.
“If we have the insurance, I know nothing will happen to you,” the wife told him. “Buy it, and I won’t worry about you. If you’re worth all that money, you’ll be perfectly safe, because I never got something for nothing in my whole life.”
It had been a joke, a lark, when they approached the booth where the flight insurance was sold. Teddi had watched with no special interest as they made out the papers, handed over the fee, and returned to their seats opposite Teddi and her father, still joking. The husband tore off part of the form and handed it to his wife.
“There. Don’t lose it. If my plane disappears or crashes during this flight, you’ll need to file this as proof that I bought the insurance.”
“At least with this,” the young woman had said, “I wouldn’t be dependent on my parents until I could get a job.”
“Just don’t get carried away and put a hex on my plane,” the man told her, grinning. “Don’t be tempted by all that wealth.”
Struck by a sudden thought, Teddi blurted, “Who’s the insurance made out to? I mean, who’s the beneficiary?”
She knew that word because there had been a small check from insurance when her mother died. Unfortunately, the policy her father had owned had a suicide clause in it; it had not been in effect long enough to pay if he took his own life.
That was one of the many things that Teddi had found so painful. Why had he done it, when he knew that he was leaving no provision for his only daughter? How could he have cared so little for her that it hadn’t mattered if Teddi were left orphaned and penniless?
The other two women were staring at her. It was Dora who recovered first and reconsulted the form.
“It’s addressed to Mamie, right? Yes, she’s the beneficiary.”
Mamie sat up straighten “Oh. Yes, so it says. That’s odd; you’d think he would have designated you, Dora. Especially since he knew you were pregnant. He would have wanted to provide for you and the baby.”
“Force of habit, probably,” Dora said. “He was used to naming his mother.”
“But he never bought insurance before,” Mamie said slowly.
“How do we know?” Teddi asked. “His plane never crashed before.”
“No. But this copy, or one like it, would have been sent before he got on the plane, wouldn’t it? That’s the whole point of the notification. If he had kept the only proof of having bought insurance, it would have been lost with him.” It suddenly dawned on her that Dora, as Ricky’s wife, might feel hurt that her husband had named his mother to receive his insurance benefits. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to cut you out, dear. Maybe he thought that if anything did happen, it would be better if funds were in my hands to take care of you. Since you were so close to delivering a baby.”
“I’m sure that’s it.” Dora smiled suddenly. “It doesn’t matter, does it? The wonderful thing is that he did buy insurance, and it will make things easier for all of us.”
“The baby’s crying,” Teddi noticed suddenly.
Dora, engrossed in reading the terms of the insurance policy, murmured, “Would you check and see if he’s wet, Teddi?”
Teddi left them figuring it all out and went back to her old bedroom, feeling strange about it. She had only moved out such a short time ago, but already the atmosphere was completely changed.
Even though a few of Teddi’s possessions were still there—a few pictures, some books in the white-painted bookcase, a teddy bear left over from early childhood—Dora’s belongings had taken over, along with the baby’s. Her clothes were scattered around. Every flat surface was cluttered with magazines and odds and ends; and of course the crib, the bassinet, the stacks of disposable diapers, and other baby paraphernalia were everywhere, transforming the place from a teenager’s bedroom to a nursery.
The baby’s face was red and screwed up into a protest as his thin wail made known his discomfort. Teddi bent over the basket, looking down at him.
“What’s the matter, Danny?” she asked softly. He didn’t seem to be wet. She hesitated, then lifted him out of his tiny prison, cradling him against her shoulder and patting him instinctively.
Danny released a few belated sobs, then subsided into her warmth. “You’re going to be all right,” she whispered against his soft little head. “Your daddy bought an insurance policy, so you aren’t poor anymore. Your grandma will see you’re well taken care of.”
She stood there for a time, rocking him back and forth, murmuring reassuring words, until he gradually relaxed and closed his eyes.
It had been so terrible, the day the news came about Ricky and the plane crash, waiting for news that his body had been found, the grief both at his loss and finally at the knowledge that, like a few others in the more than two hundred people onboard, his remains might forever rest beneath hundreds of feet of water at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.
After the two recent funerals of her own parents, Teddi hadn’t looked forward to another burial, this time of the young man who had lived next door. But it was obvious that a body to bury might have been helpful to Mamie. She needed that for closure on the tragedy. She had been so grief-stricken at first that Teddi had almost feared for her sanity, though that period hadn’t lasted long.
The lethargy into which Mamie had then sunk had been almost as bad. Neighbors and church friends brought in food for which Mamie had no appetite. Guiltily, Teddi had sampled casseroles and cakes and pies, then wrapped them in foil and put them in the freezer.
Though Teddi seldom mentioned her own losses, and she saw a similar restraint in Mamie, it had been a period of deep mourning for them both.
And then Dora had arrived, and now Danny was here, warm and soft and helpless in Teddi’s arms.
Maybe, Teddi thought hopefully, the sadness would eventually be put aside, and life . . . a good life . . . would go on.
Danny was sound asleep now, but Teddi was reluctant to put him down.
She stood for some time, rocking him to and fro, enjoying the feel of the peach fuzz hair against her cheek. No doubt Mamie remembered when it had been Ricky she held in this way, and no doubt, too, there would be tears when she held Danny, instead.
But please, God, let them be healing tears. Otherwise, nobody could bear the pain, Teddi thought.
She wasn’t even aware that her own cheeks were wet as she cradled Dora’s baby, cuddling him while he slept.
• • •
The summer days fell into a pattern.
Most mornings, Teddi had a tennis lesson at the park. At first she was so incompetent that she was tempted to stop trying, but Jason was patient and quietly encouraging.
“Nobody starts out like a pro,” he told her. “I’m probably not even the best teacher. But I can help you learn the basic stuff. And it’s fun, and good exercise.”
Sometimes they had to wait to get a court, and they would stand watching the others, often talking between themselves. She always enjoyed talking to Jason.
To her surprise she found one day that she could tell him a little about her father.
“I guess we were never very close,” she said. “He was always so busy with his work, and in the evenings he liked to tinker around with his woodworking in the garage. A few times I tried to go out and talk to him, but he made me feel like a nuisance, so I didn’t do it very often. It was funny. He and Mom could talk for hours together, and before she got so sick she and I talked a lot. But Daddy and I never did seem to have much in common.”
“Sometimes I can’t talk to my dad, either,” Jason said. “If I really want to persuade him to let me do something or have something, I talk to Mom first. She can talk him around better than I can.”
Teddi nodded. “My mom did, too, before she was sick. Then it was like she just wasn’t up to it anymore. I didn’t want to bother her when she didn’t feel well. And the sicker she got, the more Daddy worried about her and ignored me. Except when he reminded me that we needed clean clothes or something cooked, he hardly paid any attention to me at all. Some days I felt as if he wasn’t even aware that I was in the house.”
Jason sighed. “Yeah. That would be rough. Dad notices me, all right. He’s always telling me to pick something up, put something away, get my act together. And not to borrow his yellow shirt, or eat the last of the roast because he wants it for his sandwich the next day. I guess you’d have been grateful for even that much.”
“I would have,” Teddi affirmed. “I could sort of understand what he was going through, because we knew Mom was dying. For a while we hoped maybe the chemo would work, but for several months before the end we knew there wasn’t going to be a miracle. We were going to lose her.”
Jason watched her face with sympathetic eyes. “It hit him pretty hard.”
“Yes. Me, too, but he never noticed about me because he was hurting so bad himself. He was devastated when she finally died. The doctor had to give him some pills to get through the day of the funeral. Nobody asked if I needed anything. And then he came home and holed up in his den and didn’t talk to me. It was awful, but I figured he’d get over it, the way other people do.”
“Only he didn’t,” Jason said softly. “Instead, he committed suicide.” He sighed. “A kid likes to think his parents are stronger and wiser than he is,” Jason murmured. “Sometimes they aren’t, I guess.”
It has been strangely comforting to confide in Jason. And later, when they got a court and played until both of them were sweating and tired, Teddi thought it was one of the best days she’d had since it all happened.
Other days there were kids sitting on the sideline benches, watching, which made Teddi nervous. It was one thing to be awkward while learning the game, another to be under close scrutiny when she flubbed a shot. Once in a while someone shouted, “Good one!” For the most part the only negative comment from the spectators was an occasional collective groan when she missed the ball entirely.
Gradually, though, Teddi got better. And as she grew slightly in self-confidence, she realized something: The spectators were mainly teenage girls, and they were watching Jason more than they were watching her.
Once, three girls from that group met her in the grocery store and stopped in front of her. “Are you going with that new boy, Jason?” one of them asked.
Teddi knew the girls by name; they lived in the neighborhood. They were all juniors in high school.
“No,” Teddi said. “He lives next door, is all, and he offered to teach me to play.”
One of the other girls rolled her eyes appreciatively. “I wish he’d offer to give me lessons,” she said.
Other than during the tennis lessons, however, Teddi didn’t see much of Jason, except when they called across to each other before they went to bed at night. Even so, she felt an odd sort of comfort knowing he was there, not very far away, in the room that had been her mother’s. And every time she saw the cartoonlike character he’d sketched in colored markers, grinning at her from the new/used shade on his window, she had to laugh. It was good to laugh again.
The tennis lessons and Jason’s presence were welcome diversions. There were other changes at home that were less gratifying, though some were pleasant.
Teddi sometimes heard Danny crying at night, but it didn’t usually bother her much. Dora was generally good with him, so they didn’t have to listen to the baby for long before he was fed. And in the daytime Teddi enjoyed hanging over the bassinet when Dora moved it out of the bedroom. He was so tiny, yet so perfect, with fingers that would already curl around a larger finger offered to him. He didn’t do much but sleep, stretch, yawn, and eat; yet in his own way he was fascinating.
Teddi wasn’t alone in being enthralled by the baby. Mamie was only too eager to hold him, to rock him, to carry him around on her shoulder, singing or talking to him. There was no question that Mamie’s spirit had been revived by having a grandson in the house. Teddi was glad to see it; she had felt so helpless, after Ricky’s death, at her inability to comfort Mamie.
Along with the good changes, there were, of course, those other changes in the household routine that were a source of discomfort to Teddi.
She didn’t mind that there were more dishes to do and added cooking chores. It wasn’t much more work to prepare food for three rather than for two people. But a thin layer of resentment had begun to build within her about some of Dora’s habits. Dora did have to awaken early to feed the baby, after which she went back to bed, not to arise until midmorning. Then she shuffled into the kitchen in her housecoat and slippers, hours after Mamie and Teddi had cleared away their breakfast dishes.
More often than not, Mamie fixed eggs or hot cereal or pancakes for Dora. If left to her own devices, Dora usually settled for coffee and toast, or cold cereal.
“A baby needs more nutrition than that,” Mamie would say. “Why don’t I scramble you some eggs?” Teddi had the feeling that if she hadn’t been having a tennis lesson, she might have been pressed into that cooking chore when Mamie was busy elsewhere. And not only the cooking, but the washing up, because Dora just left her dishes in the sink, not even rinsing them.
And there was the matter of Dora’s tastes. Dora didn’t like salads much, though Mamie loved them. She preferred cooked peas or carrots. So cooked vegetables appeared more often on the menu. She didn’t care for brown bread, either, and though Mamie urged her to try it because it would be healthier for the baby, both white and brown bread eventually appeared on the table. Dora liked a brand of peanut butter that had sweetening in it, though Mamie had always purchased one made only of peanuts and salt. Dora didn’t like any kind of jam except for strawberry. Dora drank soft drinks, can after can, ignoring Mamie’s gentle urgings to drink more milk.
“Never could stand milk,” Dora said, shaking her head. “The taste of it gags me.”
So Mamie got a bottle of calcium capsules and left them on the kitchen table, reminding her daughter-in-law daily that both she and the baby needed calcium if Dora was not going to drink milk.
Where Mamie and Teddi liked fresh vegetables either raw or cooked in the steamer, Dora found them too firm. Left to her own devices, she would have cooked everything from green beans to broccoli until it disintegrated into mush.
Mamie tried hard not to nag about anything. She made it a point to cook what Dora said she liked, even when it often meant cooking it longer or differently from what she and Teddi were used to. Occasionally, as when they had a mess of fresh fried fish, brought over by a friend from church, she cooked something altogether separate for Dora, who objected to picking out bones.
“I seem to be getting my strength back very slowly,” Dora remarked at one point. “But I suppose it’s normal. In the old days women used to stay in bed for a couple of weeks after giving birth, before they moved around at all.” This from a woman who had insisted on having her baby alone at home because women once gave birth anywhere they were—even in the fields.
Some days Teddi thought Dora might as well have stayed in bed. She took frequent naps and spent a lot of time stretched out on her bed or the couch, reading magazines or watching TV.
The TV was another sore point. Because it was always Teddi and Mamie who cleaned up in the kitchen at night, Dora would already be arranged on the couch watching TV whenever they reached the living room.
Mamie only had a couple of programs that she watched regularly. Teddi enjoyed those, plus a few more that she watched when there was nothing else to do. But with Dora already propped on pillows on the sofa, remote control in hand, nobody else got a chance to choose programs.
“Mamie usually watches that news show,” Teddi said once, only to be told, “Oh, really? Would you mind, just this once, if I finished watching this? It’s really interesting.”
And Mamie smiled and said, certainly, she’d get the news out of the paper tomorrow.
Teddi seethed, unable to turn the situation around.
She might have gotten downright resentful if Dora had been disagreeable to her. But except for lapses like eating the last piece of pie that Teddi had been saving for her snack, for which Dora apologized, and monopolizing the couch and the TV, it was hard to blame Dora. She was a newcomer to the household and did not yet know the customs here. Teddi had been the same only a few months before when she moved in.
“She’ll get used to things, and fit in,” Mamie said soothingly, “when she’s feeling fully recovered.”
It made Teddi only too aware that she, too, had had to adjust to a new life. So how could she begrudge Dora a similar period?
“I nearly talked you to death when I first came,” Teddi remarked to Mamie as they stood together, folding clothes from the dryer one afternoon. “I just had to talk about my mom and dad, even when I knew it was hard on you, Mamie. But Dora hardly ever mentions Ricky.”
Mamie nodded, folding a tiny undershirt to add to the stack already on the table. “People react in different ways to grief. When my husband died, and then Ricky, I needed to talk about them, too. But Dora is a different kind of person. She keeps things in. Maybe, in time, it will be easier for her to talk, to ventilate her sorrow. When that time comes, we’ll listen. Until then, we’ll let her grieve silently.”
Teddi was glad that her friend Callie was home again. They spent hours together, at either Mamie’s house or Callie’s, talking, listening to music, or watching videos. Sometimes they simply sat together in the same room, reading and eating apples or cookies. When Teddi wanted to talk, Callie was there. When Teddi felt like being quiet, Callie was willing to share the silence.
One evening at supper Dora asked, “How long do you think it will take to get the insurance money?”
“I don’t know. I filled out the forms they sent me. Ordinarily insurance isn’t payable unless there is proof of death. But in this case there were forty-two people whose bodies were never recovered, and never will be. Yet the computer records show that they were all on that plane that went down. The woman I talked to seemed to think it wouldn’t be very long before the claims were paid. There’s no real hurry. We know that it will be paid. We’ll set up a trust fund for Danny, for his education. That would be one of the first things Ricky would want for his son.”
“A trust fund. That will mean the money can’t be used for anything else, won’t it?”
“Yes. I’ve talked to a lawyer, and that’s what he recommended. There will still be plenty left to ensure that you’re both taken care of while Danny’s growing up.”
“And maybe put a new roof on the house?” Teddi asked suddenly. “Didn’t you say you were worried about the roof lasting another winter?”
“Yes. It leaked a little bit during that last heavy rain in the spring. I had that fixed, but the man said the whole roof would need replacing before long.”
Dora wasn’t interested in leaky roofs. “Do you have a will, Mamie? Ricky didn’t have one; he didn’t think he needed one because he was only twenty-six and he didn’t expect to die so soon. But I guess everybody needs to think about such things, no matter how young they are.”
“Yes. The lawyer mentioned that, too. I’ll be going in next week to talk about a will. I don’t have all that much, except for the insurance, but even this house will have to be disposed of. I’d always thought it would be sold, and the profits divided between my sons. It’s only fair, now, that Danny should have Ricky’s share.”
“Well, his daddy won’t be around to look after him. I’m glad that at least he won’t grow up in poverty,” Dora said.
My dad didn’t worry about me living in poverty, Teddi thought. He didn’t think about me at all. Only himself, that he missed Mom so much.
It had hurt badly when her mother died. And it had hurt almost as much when she lost her father. But most of all it hurt to know that Stan Stuart hadn’t cared enough about his daughter to make any arrangements for her care and her life after both her parents were gone. Would she ever get over resenting that? Or would she carry the burden of it forever?
That night, after she’d put on her pajamas and turned out the light, Teddi raised the shade and looked out on the house where she had once been part of a happy family.
The opposite window was dark. Either Jason wasn’t home or had not yet decided to go to bed. Teddi left her own window open, with the shade up enough to let the air flow through beneath it.
It was a very warm night, and the attic room was stifling. Teddi turned and walked across the room to open the second window as well, hoping for a cross breeze.
This window looked out on the street, which at this time of night was deserted. The streetlight provided illumination to the immediate area, except where trees and shrubs cast heavy shadows.
As soon as she’d opened the window, a cooler draft promised relief from the heat. She stood there for a moment, welcoming the change in temperature.
The click of a latch below held her a little longer. Curious, Teddi waited for enlightenment.
There were soft footsteps on the porch, and then a dark-clothed figure went down the steps and out toward the sidewalk.
Dora? Where was she going at this time of night?
Yes, as the woman passed beneath the streetlight, it was unmistakably Dora. Hurrying, as if time were important.
Going for a walk? Heaven knew Dora didn’t get any exercise during the day, but this seemed an odd time for a stroll, even a hurried one.
Well, it wasn’t any of her business, Teddi told herself. There had been a few times when she’d wanted a walk at night herself, just to think and sort things out. Probably Dora had plenty of things to want to sort out.
Teddi was tired, but for some reason she didn’t go to sleep the way she usually did. After a period of twisting and turning, trying to get comfortable, she decided she was hungry. Since she wasn’t sleeping anyway, she thought she might as well go down to get a sandwich or something.
She didn’t bother with a robe or slippers. In her bare feet, she padded downstairs and felt her way toward the kitchen. There she turned on a light, knowing it wouldn’t bother anyone even if Dora or Mamie had a bedroom door open.
She found baloney and mustard and constructed a sandwich, adding to it a can of cold pop from Dora’s supply. She had turned out the light and reached the foot of the stairs when she heard the front door opening.
Teddi hesitated, expecting Dora to turn on a light, but nothing happened. The door latched with a barely audible sound. She couldn’t even hear the girl walking toward her, though she sensed it.
Dora’s bedroom door opened almost—but not quite—soundlessly, then was relatched behind her.
No thread of light appeared under the door. After a few moments, Teddi turned and made her way upstairs with her snack, wondering uneasily what that had all been about.