Leota's Garden

  He thought he heard a cat mewling softly and realized the muffled sound was coming from the bedroom. Frowning, he went to the doorway and peered in. The light from the living room shone in enough to show him someone was in bed. “Ruth?” He clicked the lamp on.

  “Turn off the light!” Her voice was filled with tears. “Turn it off . . .”

  He did as she asked. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” He came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed they shared. When he touched her leg, she drew both up close against her chest, weeping harder. “Ruth? What’s happened?” Fear gripped him. “Is it the baby?”

  “There is no baby,” she choked.

  His stomach tightened until he hurt. “Did you . . . have a miscarriage?” he said slowly, his heart pounding.

  She pulled the blankets closer around her. “I told you I couldn’t have it, Cory. I told you, but you wouldn’t listen to reason.”

  He stood slowly and stepped back from the bed.

  She began to sob. “They lied to me. They said it wouldn’t hurt. It hurt so much I passed out. When I came to, I was in a room with six other women. I asked for something for the pain, but the woman said it would cost another fifty bucks. Can you believe anyone could be that insensitive?”

  Emotions surged up inside him, hot, violent. He had to get out of the room. He had to get away from her. He went out into the living room and stood with his eyes tightly shut. He wanted to smash something. He could hear Ruth. No quiet weeping anymore, but loud, choking, anguished sobs. For whom? The child she had killed? His child? Or for herself because it wasn’t as easy as she wanted it to be?

  “Cory, I need you.”

  Grabbing his jacket, he went out the door, slamming it behind him. He walked down the block, passing the corner coffee shop where he liked to sit with friends. Someone called his name, but he kept walking. He didn’t care which direction he went. He wanted to run. He wanted to get as far away from Ruth Coldwell as he could.

  He found himself on the campus. He kept walking, passing by buildings where he had taken classes over the past three years. He saw the stadium and went around it, continuing upward until he found himself on Tightwad Hill, where people who wouldn’t pay the price of admission sat to watch university football games.

  Body-weary and spirit-spent, Corban paused, staring out over Berkeley and across the bay to San Francisco. The lights were beautiful. Everything looked crisp and clean up here. Nevertheless, he felt tears gathering in the backs of his eyes, his throat closing tight and hot.

  Annie lived over there somewhere. He wished he could call and talk to her. He wished he could ask her what he should do now. He’d get arrested and hauled off to jail if he did what he wanted. He hunkered down and raked his hands through his hair. Why had Ruth done it? He had told her he would take care of her. He told her they could work things out. Weaving his fingers tightly at the back of his neck, he kept his head down and his eyes closed.

  “Jesus,” he whispered. Beyond that, he didn’t know what to say. Up to a few weeks ago, he had been pro-choice. Funny how things could change so fast. He hadn’t understood what it would mean when he had no say in whether his own flesh and blood had a right to live or not.

  “This is my life,” Ruth had said. Even if it cost the life of his child?

  He dredged up all the philosophical discussions he had had over the past few years. None comforted him.

  “Jesus,” he whispered again, and the tears came.

  Ruth was wrapped in a blanket and lying on the sofa when Corban unlocked and opened the door.

  “Where did you go?” She peered at him.

  “For a walk.”

  “It’s eleven o’clock. You’ve been gone four hours.” Her face was white, her eyes puffy from crying. Her hair was matted on one side as though she had spent most of the time curled into the fetal position on their bed, just as he’d left her. He couldn’t look into her eyes.

  “I needed to think.”

  “Don’t you think I thought about it? That’s all I’ve done for weeks. I had to do it, Cory. Try to understand!”

  “I’m trying, but I’d rather not talk about it right now, if you don’t mind.”

  She turned her face away, and he saw her swallow convulsively. “I’ve worked too hard to throw it all away.” She looked back at him again, eyes glistening with tears. “And so have you.”

  She could cry an ocean of tears and not touch his heart. Not now.

  “I have a right to my own life.” She pulled the blankets tighter. “And so do you. One of us would have had to give up our dreams. And I knew it would be me in the end. That’s always the way it is. The woman has to give up everything.”

  “Is that what your friends have been telling you? I would’ve been giving up plenty,” he said tightly.

  “And you never would have let me forget it either, would you?”

  “We could have worked it out.”

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  Her bitterness fed his wrath. “You never gave yourself a chance to find out.”

  “I didn’t have to wait. I knew what would happen. It’s what’s always happened to women. You agreed with me a few months ago.”

  “I was wrong.”

  She sat up slowly and waited. Corban knew she wanted him to look her in the face, but he couldn’t. She let her breath out slowly. “Even if I wanted to undo it, Cory, I couldn’t. It’s too late.”

  She had seen to that. His child was dead. He looked at her then, in loathing, and saw her emotions flickering across her features: shame, sorrow, confusion, a desperate appeal. She buried her face in her hands and cried again. Pity stirred within him. Who was he to cast stones? Hadn’t he been all for abortion until a few weeks ago?

  Sighing heavily, accepting his share of the guilt, Corban went to her. “I’m sorry, Ruth.” I’m sorry you did this terrible thing. I’m sorry my child is dead. I’m sorry we’re both going to have to live with what you’ve done. He touched her hair and sat down beside her on the sofa. “I should’ve given you more support.” Maybe if he’d been around more, making plans for their future instead of trying to finish his classes . . .

  “It would’ve been easier,” she said, misunderstanding him completely. She turned to him, weeping, her fingers clinging to his shirt. He could feel her whole body shaking violently against him.

  It took all his will to put his arms around her and give her comfort.

  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.”

  “Not so anyone would notice.”

  “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?”