Part Seventy

Friday, Oct 14. Late evening.

It was close to midnight. Peggy stood on the sidewalk in front of a small 1st Avenue bar and shook hands with Dr. Hanford Hinckley. Milton Pacer, her boss, jabbered excitedly at her elbow.

"It certainly was our pleasure, Dr. Hinckley," Milton was saying.

Peggy hardly heard him. Instead, she was struck, as she had been all evening, by how Dr. Hinckley reminded her of her late husband, Taylor Heggy.

For one thing he was totally preoccupied. Even now he looked at his watch as though he had a midnight appointment to keep. Taylor had had the same kind of manner: alert and probing, yet his brain, like a computer, could run a background process while he talked about, say, his favorite oysters. Which is exactly what Dr. Hinckley talked about for twenty minutes while they sat in the Bookstore and sipped martinis at a dark table. The similarities gave Peggy goose bumps; she was glad Milton was there.

"I hope to see you in January," he said.

Peggy smiled. "I'm giving it serious thought. It's very exciting, Dr. Hinckley."

"I think you'll do well," he said.

Milton drove her to the ferry after they had said good night to Dr. Hinckley.

"What'dya think?"

"Intimidating. He's too brilliant to have an ordinary conversation with. Have you ever heard someone toss off so many facts and figures about ocean warming?"

"No. I haven't."

"I felt like a graduate student going to dinner with her professor."

"If you want my opinion..."

"I know your opinion, Milt. You want me to take the residency."

"It would be great for the organization, and great for you."

"Oh? Why would it be great for me?"

"You need a break from here. Too many memories."

"Some of the memories are good."

"But some of them aren't."

Peggy was silent. She knew he was telling the truth. For the past year and a half since Taylor's death, Milton had been the one to remind her of the things she didn't like about her marriage, the things she had complained about at the office to her female co-workers, some of which Milton overheard. Peggy's standard response to Milton was always, 'no relationship is perfect.'

"No relationship is perfect," she told him now as they pulled up to the ferry terminal.

"Exactly my point. Why do it again?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm talking about Raoul. I didn't realize how serious it was until this week. All I'm saying is, before you jump into another relationship be sure you know what you are doing. That's why I think living somewhere else for a while would not be a bad idea."

Peggy was stunned. Why was it that other people always saw her situation more clearly than she saw it herself? Milton suddenly seemed like the most perceptive and insightful man in the world.

She got out of the car and closed the door. Milton slid the window down. She leaned in and smiled at him. "You're something else. Good night."

"Call me."

It was one a.m. by the time she walked home in the darkness after making the crossing from Seattle to Bainbridge Island. She went into the kitchen, her heels echoing loudly on the wood floor, and poured a tall glass of water. She drank it in one gulp and poured another.

In her bedroom, she looked at herself again in the full-length mirror before undressing. She felt she had looked good that evening. Her skin was pleasant. Her figure was acceptable, perhaps too thin if anything.

Within ten minutes she was in her robe, her faced washed, her hair brushed, sitting on the edge of her bed. She eyed the telephone. And the time. One-fifteen. It had hit her while riding on the ferry: the riddle of her relationship with Raoul. She realized at last the thing that had been missing. The one thing that was nearly unspoken between them.

She lifted the receiver and dialed.

"Hello?" His voice sounded muffled.

"I'm sorry to call so late," she said.

Pause. She could feel his brain processing the words, realizing it was her, waking up.

Finally he cleared his throat. "Is something wrong?"

For a moment she thought of how many possible meanings that question could have. "No. I mean, there's no emergency or anything like that. It's just that I knew I wouldn't sleep until I discussed something with you."

He took a deep breath. "How was Wild Ginger?"

"Delicious, as usual. Our visiting scientist was very interesting and important, so Milton pulled out all the stops. There's lots to tell, a lot has happened just today."

"Is that what you called about?"

"Not exactly. There's something else on my mind."

"Do you mean you're accepting my invitation to move in?"

"No." Then she added quickly, "That is, I haven't decided. It hit me tonight that there is something we've never discussed and I think we need to."

Silence. "I know what you're going to say."

"Priscilla and Taylor," she said.

She heard a rustling of sheets and the click of a lamp. She imagined him sitting up in bed.

"Right now? On the phone?" he asked.

"Yes." After a pause, she said, "I'll go first." She collected her thoughts; she had been preparing for this moment. "I believe I mentioned he died of a stroke."

"Yes."

She sat against the headboard with the covers around her waist. The house was silent, and dark except for the single lamp by her bed. She resisted the urge to invite Raoul over. She knew he would come. He would not even hesitate.

"What I will never, ever forget," she began. "Was the suddenness of it. He sort of fainted, but then recovered slightly and said he had the worst headache of his life. Then he started to faint again. I called 9-1-1. He lost consciousness on the way over. He never came back. He died a few hours later. I refused to believe it. It simply did not register in my brain. We were having a conversation, it was about Marjorie, and choosing a date to go and visit her in Virginia. I was about to call Marjorie to see if a particular date was okay with her. It was in my mind to do that. I remember, like I still do, stopping to think about what time it was in Virginia, because it's three hours later, and I didn't want to call too late because she goes to bed early. And I said to him 'okay, the 5th it is' and he didn't answer. I thought at first he had changed his mind about the date. I looked at him and his eyes started to close, like he was very sleepy. I went to him, thinking I should make him take a nap. That's when he fainted. Sitting in a chair. I caught him. Never did it cross my mind that that was the last conversation I would have with him. Even after he was gone I couldn't accept it. I lived in denial for months. I couldn't let go. I suppose the hardest part of all was that we didn't say goodbye."

She drank water from her glass and reached for a tissue. Tears streamed down her cheeks and onto her nightgown. The phone was wet where it touched her chin.

"Thanks for listening," she said.

He cleared his throat. "My experience was almost exactly the opposite. Priscilla died a long slow death from breast cancer. It happened over a one-year period. First came the diagnosis. I was in immediate denial from the start. Then the treatments and long stays in the hospital, which grew longer as she grew weaker. She went from being the most vibrant, active woman anybody knew to barely a shell of her former self. After a point she wanted no visitors except family. It was too shocking. Myself and Deidre and Priscilla's sister were with her when she took her last breath." He paused. "You said that you didn't say goodbye to Taylor; I said goodbye for a year. I'm not sure which is worse. It was especially hard on Deidre. God, it was awful to see her with her mother. I would have given anything in the world to reverse what was happening, just for Deidre's sake. Frankly, she's not over it. I still worry about her."

The room was quiet. Peggy sat in the soft yellow glow reflected off the walls from the lamp. The only sound had been Raoul's voice coming through the phone. Now it was quiet as they processed what had been said.

"What about you? Are you over it?" asked Peggy at last.

Pause. "No. I'm not."

She smiled. "You know, I thought I was so superior and now I feel so foolish."

"Why?"

"Because I thought I had accepted Taylor's death and you were the one still in denial. I thought I was helping you, when in fact I was the one who needed help. I thought I was in control, but I haven't been."

"What makes you say that?"

"It's the way I've been behaving, reaching for something, grasping at straws. I think I was using you to avoid looking at myself. You became a welcome distraction. Instead of dwelling on my own loss, and getting healthy, I could pretend to be helping you with yours instead. Does that make sense?"

"I see. I was a smoke screen."

"But the screen disappeared this week. I saw myself clearly for the first time in a long time."

Peggy yawned. She could sleep now.

"So, uh, what happens next?" Raoul asked.

"I don't know. I need to sleep on it. Thank you for waking up and talking. You've helped me so much."

After a pause, during which Peggy hoped he wouldn't suggest coming over, he said, "Okay, but the invitation to move in is still open."

"I know. I'm thinking about it."

They said good night. She was afraid of what she had to do next: she had to tell him about Woods Hole and the residency. But that conversation could wait another day. She hung up and was asleep in five minutes. It had been an extremely long day.


Nov 24, Thanksgiving Day

With a festive Pop!, Raoul ejected the cork from the sparkling wine and sent it flying out the back door.

Florence almost choked on a piece of salmon and goat cheese. "My God, are you shooting the turkey?"

Raoul poured bubbly golden liquid into flutes and passed them around. He wore a blue blazer with gold buttons and a neatly pressed shirt. "This is an impressive brut from Italy."

Florence took the glass. "I've always wanted to spend Thanksgiving with an Italian brute."

"I'll drink to that," said Paula.

"As long as he's a well-mannered brute," said Peggy, raising her glass to touch Paula's.

Xena came from the kitchen bearing a plate of fresh pears and sharp cheese. "Wait a minute, I want to be in on any discussion of brutes, well-mannered or otherwise."

The women laughed as their glasses touched.

Raoul looked at Kelly and Luke. "Should we go for a walk or something?"

"We'd have to slouch," said Kelly, "in order to look more brutish."

Luke said, "Next time, just get Champagne."

Raoul cleared his throat. "Are you ladies quite done?"

"We haven't even started," said Florence, winking at Raoul.

"I believe a toast to Peggy is in order," said Raoul.

"To Peggy in her new home," said Paula.

"You got guts, honey," said Florence.

"Bravo," said Xena.

Peggy blushed. "I have Luke to thank for finding a tenant so quickly."

"And not just any tenant, a dream boat," said Paula, her eyes glowing.

Luke looked dejected. Florence patted him on the arm. "You'll get over it, dear. Easy come, easy go."

Paula smiled. "Ah, the voice of experience."

Raoul put his glass down. "I'd better check the turkey."

"I'll come with you," said Kelly.

Peggy watched them go outside to the grill and lift the lid. The aroma of roasting turkey wafted through the open door, along with a gust of cold air. She closed the door and looked through the glass. The rain had not yet started but she could feel it coming. The landscape was gray and misty, with subdued patches of color.

Peggy turned back and saw her luggage stacked in a corner. There had been no time to do anything with it once Raoul had carried it in late last night. This morning had been a rush: she made her favorite apple and sage dressing while Raoul got the turkey ready and then started a complicated stock for the gravy. Paula came early and made mashed potatoes. Xena brought appetizers. Florence picked up wine from the store, after receiving detailed instructions from Raoul.

Paula joined Peggy, who was lost in thought, staring at her luggage.

"It's hard to tell if you're coming or going," said Paula.

Peggy laughed. "I'm in transit. I had to clear out of my house yesterday. Tomorrow's my flight. So I'm camping here for now."

"Does it feel like you're leaving?" asked Paula.

"That's a good question," said Peggy. "On the one hand, I'm going, but if Raoul joins me, then it will not be like I ever left, will it?"

"I take it you would prefer a clean break," said Paula.

"Oh I don't know; that sounds so final. I'm a coward. I don't want to burn my bridges behind me."

"Have you told him?"

"No."

"So he thinks he's going with you?"

"He thinks I'm thinking about it. But I've already thought about it. I'm going alone."

Paula looked at her. "Are you sure?"

"I do want him to visit," Peggy said, trying to sound brave and decisive.

Raoul and Kelly came through the door on a gust of cold air and roasting turkey.

"Make way for the turkey," said Kelly.

"Which one?" said Florence.

Xena laughed. "Raoul, your guests are so entertaining."

"Depends on which end of the jokes you're on," he said.

"Should I start the vegetables?" said Paula.

"I'll open the wine," said Florence.

"But save some for the rest of us," said Raoul.

Xena laughed again. "You two belong in a sitcom."

"What can I do?" asked Peggy. "My dressing is hot, I'll just turn the oven off."

"Stir the gravy," said Raoul.

Florence gazed into the refrigerator. "These desserts look amazing. What are they?"

"Pumpkin crème brulee," said Raoul.

"Are they creamy and fatty and loaded with calories?" said Florence.

"You bet, especially after I glaze them with my new kitchen torch."

"Good. I'm splurging this weekend."

"Monday's a long way off," said Xena. "You can get back into your girdle by then."

"Um, that implies exercise," said Florence.

For about twenty minutes there was a flurry of activity as they wore a path between the kitchen and the dining room, setting out the Thanksgiving feast on a pressed, pale yellow tablecloth laden with crystal wine glasses and monogrammed silver and plates rimmed in white gold.

"Your wedding China?" asked Florence of Raoul.

"Yes. How do you like it?"

"It's beautiful."

In the center of the table, a great vase of alstromeria caught the gray light from the windows and sprayed the ivory-colored plates with dots of Fall color. Peggy moved the vase to a side table near the window.

"Wonderful flowers, Peggy," said Xena.

Peggy was preoccupied as she turned her attention back to the dining table. "I feel like I'm forgetting something."

Once the dishes of food had been arranged on the crowded table like pieces of a puzzle, Raoul invited everyone to sit. They enjoyed a round of toasting and shared thoughts of thankfulness. Then they noisily handed around platters and bowls of turkey, gravy, fresh cranberry sauce, crisp green beans and mashed potatoes. Peggy couldn't shake the thought that something was missing.

"Ah, the new wine of the vintage," Raoul said, raising a glass of Beaujolais Nouveau. "Look at the rich purple color, and the nose is very fruity. 2005 is a great year for grapes, in France at least."

"To tell you the truth," said Florence, "I haven't met a year I didn't like."

"Hence my detailed instructions," said Raoul.

"Really, dear, I think you would graciously consume any wine that I brought over because you're such a gentleman," said Florence. "And after the third glass you would think I was an absolute wine connoisseur." Florence took very small bites of food as she talked.

Peggy sipped the wine. "It is good. I just wish I could remember what it is we're missing."

Kelly said, "You're distracted. We understand."

"Are you going straight to Massachusetts?" asked Luke.

"I'm detouring in Virginia, first, to spend December with my daughter and her husband. I'll go to Woods Hole after the first of the year."

"Just in time for blizzards," said Xena, shivering.

"A good excuse to update your wardrobe," said Florence.

"Exactly," said Peggy.

"Isn't your daughter expecting?" asked Paula.

Peggy nodded. "She's in her seventh month."

"That's a good time for Mom to show up," said Xena.

Florence had a mischievous look on her face. "The interesting question is what's poor Raoul going to do?"

Peggy was shocked to notice that all eyes turned to her, as though everyone knew that Raoul's fate, as it were, rested in her hands. She looked at Raoul for help.

Raoul shrugged. "Speak freely. We're among friends."

"And besides, we'll find out anyway," said Florence with a giggle.

Peggy chose her words carefully. The room was suddenly silent. "The last few months have been the most... therapeutic, I guess, that I've spent in the last year-and-a-half. It was during this time that I came to realize that I was in denial over my husband's death. It started to hit me when we were in New Orleans with Raoul's sister, attending the passing of her friend, Agnes Lambert. I knew then that I wasn't over the loss of Taylor. You see, there's a difference between accepting a loss, versus never getting over it. There's nothing selfish or dishonorable about accepting and moving on with your life. I think it's important to cherish the memory of that person, but at the same time it's, I think, unhealthy, if that memory becomes an overpowering influence on your life. Do you see what I mean? I think there's a line you cross where the deceased person has too much control over the living person."

She paused for a breath and sipped water. Paula dabbed her eyes with a napkin. Peggy continued. "So, getting to the point, I want to be healthy before I allow my relationship with Raoul progress beyond what it is today. I'm going to Woods Hole alone, but I certainly hope Raoul, and all of you for that matter, will come for, um, short visits."

All eyes turned to Raoul. He smiled and shook his head. "It's embarrassing when you're a lawyer and your stumped. I can't disagree with anything that Peggy has said. I think that I've been living with Priscilla right here in this house since she died, and it has made me unhappy and a bit of an old Scrooge without my even knowing it. Maybe I should take a long trip somewhere. Maybe I'll go to New Mexico and rent a cabin in the desert and paint pictures and grow unusual varieties of cactus."

Florence brightened. "That sounds lovely. Do you need an assistant?"

"No."

Everyone laughed. Peggy raised her glass. "Now it's my turn to propose a toast, to all of you, for being such wonderful friends. I love you all, and I will miss you."

Their glasses touched with bright tones that resonated throughout the room. Then Peggy almost choked on her wine as the thought hit her.

"My dressing! We forgot the dressing!"

She rushed to the oven and opened it. Although the oven had been turned off, the pungent odor told her that the food had sat in the still-hot oven too long. She lifted out the long dish with two pot holders and carried it into the dining room. They all stared at a brown, well-cooked mixture with a dark, syrupy sludge at the bottom of the pan.

"Smells approximately like apples," said Xena.

"It is, or was, my apple-sage-caramelized-onion dressing with gluten-free croutons."

"What a shame. It would've been delicious," said Kelly.

Peggy looked up with a smile. "You know what? I don't even care. There's always next year."

"I'll drink to that," said Raoul.

"To next year," said Paula.

"Cheers!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Does this mean we can move on to dessert?" asked Florence.

 Photo by James Beug


THE END