“Oh, dear Lord, you’re right! I did! And who wound up coming back here and loving it when Grant decided to practice here? I did! God, isn’t life funny?”
“It sure is. You can’t get the Geechee out of the girl.”
“True. Anyway, Grant and I spent a lot of time laughing at our stupidity and Grant swears he never meant to hold out on me. He thought I didn’t care about the lining of his soul. I told him that I wanted to really and truly live for his love if he’d live for mine.”
“So things have been good? Want some more wine?” I poured myself another glass.
“Nah, thanks, I’ll wait for dinner. Yeah, things have been real good. I really love him, Susan. I love our family and I don’t want to shortchange it. I just knew it was time to tell him my whole story. Like you said, if it heads south after that, it won’t be because we didn’t give it an honest shake.”
“Damn, Maggie, this is great. I’m so proud of you. If I ever fall in love again, I’m gonna come clean too.”
She threw her arm around my shoulder and gave me a good squeeze. The front door closed and I knew Beth was back. It was three o’clock on the nose and time to take the bird out of the oven and put the casseroles in. We fussed around some more and soon it was finally time to eat.
“Well, we’d better feed the Pilgrims before winter sets in,” I said.
“I’ll call everyone,” Maggie said, leaving the room.
“Need any help?” Beth said and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“Perfect timing, missy, go wash your hands.”
We had enough food for a small battalion of starving soldiers, which turned out to be the correct amount, given the voracious appetites of Maggie’s boys and the men. Maggie and I had cooked and baked for a week. As I looked over the pots and casseroles, I was almost embarrassed by the excess. But by the grace of God, I hadn’t burned anything.
I lit the candles on the dining room table and thought to myself that it looked beautiful. My mixed collection of small antique bowls held sweet pickles, artichoke relish, mustard and mayonnaise. Maggie had brought over her straw cornucopia and filled it with flowers and skewered vegetables. The table was set for the seven of us and I decided to put Grant and Tom at the ends. It might be the last time we celebrated a holiday with Tom and I felt a generous spirit.
“All right, everyone, let’s sit down and bless the last Thanksgiving of the millennium,” I said.
“Looks great, Aunt Susan,” Bucky said.
“Thanks, honey. Tom, why don’t you sit here? Would you like to say grace?”
We gathered around the table and bowed our heads.
“Bless us, O Lord,” Tom prayed, “and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive, through Thy bounty, and Christ our Lord.”
“Amen,” we responded together.
“And, Lord,” he said, his voice quavering, “please bless and protect my family, especially my daughter and her mother, and all of us here today. Please let us live in peace. Amen.”
“Amen,” we said again.
Tom’s eyes were filled with tears. I held on and was grateful when the talk and chatter of the holiday began. I lifted the tureen and began to fill the soup plates.
“Pass the biscuits, Grant,” Maggie said. “Gosh, Susan, that soup smells so good!”
“It’s divine and it should be. After all, you made it!”
“Not too much, Susan, I want to save myself for the turkey!” Tom said.
“Grace was so nice, Tom, thank you,” I said.
“I meant it.”
“I know you did,” I said.
The meal began with a Lowcountry specialty—oyster stew, which we had served every Thanksgiving I could remember. We had so many dishes of food that the buffet had to be set up on my kitchen island. Turkey, stuffing, giblet gravy, glazed ham, collard greens, creamed rutabagas, creamed beets in orange sauce, fresh peas and onions, corn pudding, string bean casserole, candied sweet potatoes, a huge green salad, homemade biscuits, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, mincemeat pie and a whipping cream pound cake with lemon sauce. Over the next hour, we got up and helped ourselves until we could eat no more.
No one talked about the Thanksgiving when Daddy and Sophie had died, thank the Lord. We had beaten that horse to death over the years. No, we just ate and laughed, and the house was filled with good spirit and outrageous lies about fishing trips and athletic accomplishments.
“Let’s have dessert later,” I said, finally.
“I’m so tired of chewing my jaw hurts,” Grant said.
“Let’s go in the living room for a little bit,” Maggie said. “Beth, honey? Switch on the coffeemaker, okay?”
“Sure thing,” Beth said.
I read somewhere that there’s something in turkey that makes you sleepy. It must be true. Maggie’s boys and Beth did all the dishes while I fell half-asleep on the couch in the living room. I could vaguely hear Grant, Tom and Maggie talking over the noise of a third football game on the television. I loved having them all in my house. My house now, but part of Tom would always be here.
Finally, the television was turned off and somebody pulled an afghan over me. I heard Beth saying good night, exchanging kisses and was relieved that my sister’s family understood that I was too wiped to get up. After a while, my radar told me Tom was still in the house. I knew he was hanging around for something. I forced myself to get up, and sure enough, I found him in the kitchen talking to Beth.
“Dinner was great, Mom.”
“Thanks, doodle. I’m just going to wash my face and try to revive myself. I’ll be right back.”
“Yeah, Susan, it was really a great dinner.”
“Thanks. Stick around, I’ll buy you a sandwich.”
He smiled at me and we were friends at last.
Upstairs, all I wanted to do was get under the covers and close my eyes. I gave the comforter on my bed a pat and said, “I’ll be back soon.” My face needed powder and lipstick, which I applied after brushing my teeth. Somehow brushing my teeth always wakes me up.
Tom was in the living room waiting for me. “Beth went to the movies with her girlfriends,” he said. “I told her it was okay.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” I said. “Want some coffee? I have to wake up.”
“Got any scotch?”
“Sure, help yourself,” I said.
He followed me to the kitchen and filled a glass with ice and three fingers of alcohol. It was a very strong drink for Tom. I stirred the milk into my coffee and waited.
“Susan, I want to talk to you about something,” he said. “Let’s go in the living room.”
“Sure,” I said.
We sat on the couch and he took a giant gulp of his drink. “Susan, I don’t know how to say this except to come right out and tell you the truth.”
“Please.”
“Karen and I are not really broken up,” he said.
“You told me last week you were.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t tell you everything,” he said. “We’re just taking some time off.”
“You don’t have to tell me all this if you don’t want to, you know. I mean, it’s none of my business.”
“I’ve changed my will,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Yes. My estate is worth nearly two million dollars and I’ve made Beth the sole beneficiary. The money would be held in a trust with you as the guardian until she’s thirty.”
“Where on God’s earth did you get two million dollars?”
“My parents left me a huge block of blue-chip stock that I never told you about.”
Good grief, I thought, another minor secret of our marriage.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked.
“I have prostate cancer.”
“Tom! Oh, my God! Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry!” I put my arms around him and he started to cry. Then I did too. I couldn’t help it. “Come on, now, tell me everything,” I said.
“It’s why I told Beth she could go out.
No one knows except Karen, and I had to tell somebody….”
“When did you find this out?”
“About a month ago. I’m so worried I can’t begin to tell you.”
“Of course you are. Look, darling, it’s gonna be all right. Prostate cancer is common and they can get it out. We’ll find you the best surgeon and you’ll be fine!”
“I’m not having the operation,” he said.
“Why not? Is it gone that far? Oh, my God!”
“No, no. It’s in the beginning stages. It’s because—look, if I have the surgery then there’s a large chance that I can’t ever have sex again.”
I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Tom, they’ve got that new pill.”
“I know, but with the particular kind of cancer I’ve got, they don’t think it will work for me.”
“Tell me this again. I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“It’s why Karen left me. I was going to have the surgery but she said that if I do and I can’t perform, then it’s over between us forever. Sex is such a big thing to her and she’s young, Susan. I can’t expect her to spend the next fifty or sixty years of her life not ever having sex.”
“Let’s go back here a little bit. First of all, I can hardly believe this conversation. This is about you and your health and your life, for God’s sake. You have a daughter, Tom. Would you miss seeing Beth get married, holding her children in your arms, all that can happen in your life for this self-centered little whore? Have you lost your mind?”
“I knew you’d see it this way.”
“What is that supposed to mean? How else should I see it?”
“Look, Susan, this is something you can’t possibly understand. You’re a woman.”
“That’s right. I am. Not a horrible child like Ka—”
“Let me finish, okay?”
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
“Even if I break up with Karen, who else would want a man who can’t get it up?”
“You are really a damn fool. Who wants women with mastectomies? Who wants women with hysterectomies? I’ll tell you. Real men, that’s who.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right, but I can’t imagine it…never making love to a woman again.”
“Don’t preach to me about the importance of having a sex life. I’m something of an expert in that area, and guess what? I’ve always found plenty to occupy my time and plenty of satisfaction in those things. And, as long as we’re being so brutally honest with each other, there’s a long list of what you can do when making love besides penetration, Tom. Books have been written about it. Lots of them.”
“So what should I do?”
“Are you serious? You have the surgery, that’s what. Plain and simple. Look, don’t they have those prosthesis things, a pump or something to make it work? And they’ll improve the pill!”
“I don’t know about that stuff. I haven’t gone that far yet. I just got the lab report and went home.”
“Who’s your doctor?”
“Some guy Grant sent me to. Youngworth, I think.”
“Does Grant know?”
“No, I told you, just you and Karen.”
“Well, Tom, I’m not running away to the Himalayas to hide from you.”
“That’s good. Thanks, Susan.”
“Look, you may have broken my heart and I may have cried a river over it, but I’m not going to stand by and watch you throw your life away.”
“I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”
He hung his head and wrung his hands. I felt so sorry for him. He was watching his life slip away and couldn’t decide if it was worth saving. When he looked up at me, his eyes were tearing. From his breathing, I knew he was on the verge of weeping again and then the floodgates opened.
“Susan, tell me this. Do you still love me enough to let me come home? Will you take care of me? Would you do that?” Tears were streaming down his face.
“Tom, listen to me. There’s a place in my heart that’s gonna love you until the day I die, but I do not want to live with you as man and wife, even if you didn’t have this terrifying problem. However, you are the father of my only child, and I will not abandon you if you need me. I will help you find the best doctors and see that you have the best care. That much I promise.”
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to go through this alone.”
“You won’t.”
“I have to think about it. I’m going back to my apartment now.”
I stood up and gave him a hug.
“Call me tomorrow, okay?” I said.
“I will.”
I looked at the door as it closed behind him. Through the window I watched him go through the gate and toward his car. It used to be our gate. You could see his terrible sadness in the back of his shoulders, the way he walked, the way he held himself. So much had changed. Another Thanksgiving and another disaster. My head was pounding and my heart raced. I didn’t want Tom to die. The thought of it terrified me.
Sixteen
Operating in the Christmas Theater
1999
IT was Wednesday afternoon, December first. Tom had seen an oncologist that day and I was waiting for him to call. We hadn’t told Beth about Tom’s cancer yet, but Tom had called Grant for advice, so then Maggie and Grant knew.
Beth and I were searching for Christmas ornaments up in the dark attic. A single bare lightbulb, with a pull chain of yarn, was the guardian that saved us from falling through the rafters. It was a favorite ritual, performed each year with the excitement of anticipating a birth. The birth of the Christ Child, of course, but the holidays also marked the end of one year and the birth of another. And this year had been extraordinary. Beth had transformed into a young woman and I too had begun a new life. And there was the rapid approach of the Millennium, which was sure to bring change to the world.
The ornaments in the boxes chronicled our lives. Some were shaped like stars, teddy bears and balls that I had stitched together and decorated with sequins when Tom and I were first married. Cookie ornaments by the dozens that Beth and I had baked together and then shellacked. And every paper chain that Beth had ever made was somewhere in a box, wrapped with care in tissue paper.
Tom was very much on my mind as I carried the boxes down to the living room. It was going to be our first Christmas without him living in the house and now my heart was heavy with his illness.
I decided to move the couch and put the tree in front of the window. I had hoisted one end out about five feet when Beth came in with another load of decorations.
“Want to give me a hand here?” I said.
She put three boxes on the chair and gave me a small round of applause before coming to help.
“Very funny, wise guy,” I said. “Let’s push this over on that wall and move the chairs to the sides of the mirror.”
“Okay. Momma? Do we have to use the fake tree this year?”
“Why not? It doesn’t shed and it looks very real.”
“I’d like just once in my life to smell a real tree, that’s all,” she said.
“You know what? You’re right. Let’s go get us a real tree! A big one!”
“What if it dies before Christmas?”
“It ain’t gonna die, because you’re in charge of watering it.”
“Oh, great. Me and my big mouth.”
“Come on. Get your jacket.”
Small forests had sprung up overnight in front of the grocery stores. I drove west of the Ashley River and Beth was confused.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Kroger’s.”
“What? We, like, never shop there!”
“Well, because it’s not so convenient, but, my dear child, the front of the store is in the shade. That’s where they have the trees. It means they don’t bake all day in the Lowcountry sun and we might get one that will last all month.”
“God, Mom, you are, like, a total genius. You think of everything.”
“Don’t say…”
“Right. Sorry.”
“Thank you.”
All the streetlights had glittering wreaths hanging from them. Their red bows waved in the chilly breeze. The city was putting on its holiday finery, and I was getting excited about Christmas. Something inside told me that Tom would survive and that he’d be fine. I was going to worry, though, just in case. In my family’s Catholic tradition, if you took good health for granted you risked terrible disease. So part of me ran a silent novena, pleading to all the saints for God’s mercy for Tom, and the rest of me prepared for the holidays with a child’s wide eyes. And here I was, about to open the wallet for a fresh tree when we had a perfectly good artificial one. That was an indication of the slight recklessness I was feeling.
“I’m really excited about Christmas, doodle,” I said, “how ’bout you?”
“Yeah, I mean, I can’t believe that everybody is really coming. It’s going to be a blast!”
“Yeah, Uncle Henry and Uncle Timmy and their clans are coming to the Island. We have tons of shopping to do. They’re staying through the Millennium too. What a party! What do you want from Santa this year?”
“Oh, the entire contents of the Gap would be good for starters. How about you?”
“Gosh, I don’t know. Let’s see. A Jaguar, a shopping spree that never ends and a face-lift. How’s that?”
“You don’t need a face-lift, Mom. You have a gorgeous face.”
“Ah, my precious one, I see a Gap in your future!”
“So, Mom, what do you think about the Millennium? Do you think the world’s coming to an end? A lot of kids at school say so.”
“Beth, every day is the end of the world for someone. It’s a sin to be superstitious. But I think it’s going to be the wildest New Year’s Eve of your entire life, and nothing’s ending that I know of.”
“Well, I suppose. We’ll see.”
We pulled into the parking lot and got out. Kroger’s had hundreds of trees from which to choose. A teenage boy wearing a sweater over his apron was outside helping customers. We would surely try his patience before we finally decided on the perfect tree. He was cute—in spite of his acne—long and lanky. He flirted with Beth with no shame.