They were Mama’s trophies. People turned their heads, smiled and whispered as Elba and Hank Sherman marched their brood down the street or down the aisle of the church, each child wearing spotless though well-used clothes, hair slicked back or pulled into tight braids, stockings whiter than white, faces shining and, until the age of eighteen, makeup free. Beth was mystified by the problems Barbara Ann had with her sons, she was astonished by the dirt and disorder they could live in. Not in Mama’s house. Never in Mama’s house! No one would dare leave a sock on the floor or a hairbrush on the bathroom counter. Not that Mama would be cruel or even harsh, but she was simply there, every second, like a bad dream, taking the offender by the hand and leading him or her to the untidy mistake and saying, “Is this where we leave our shoes?” “What is it we do with our towels?”
Each one of them got A’s. Each one went to college, though Mama and Daddy had no money to send them. Each one excelled, kept a perfect house, ate right, slept soundly and married well. Eight college graduates, most happily married—and one of them a priest! All just as Mama had indoctrinated them all through their childhoods.
Except Beth.
Oh, she got the A’s and went to college. She even got a master’s degree. And her house was perfectly tidy, just as Mama would like. But she hurt inside and slept poorly. She hadn’t done things according to Mama’s plan, the way the others had. She was already twenty-five when she met Jack—and at a bar, no less! Her sisters had fiancés in college and married soon afterward, beginning their families right off, except Deborah, who had defiantly waited. Beth hadn’t had boyfriends. She was so shy that only the very dorky ones approached her. And while she might have been panicked, she wasn’t stupid. The only reason she met Jack was that one of the teachers at the junior high where Beth was the librarian manipulated Beth into going out for drinks every Friday night, mainly so Beth could drive her home if she didn’t find a guy to leave with.
Beth knew when she met this smooth-talking, handsome, flirtatious airline pilot that she’d met her one chance at getting a husband. She might be an old maid, but Jack’s words and touch thrilled her. Even in marrying Jack, a few concessions had to be made. Mama was concerned. (Disappointed.) He was ten years older than her for one thing, he wasn’t Catholic and he’d been married twice before—something she couldn’t let her family find out about. So, in an amazingly independent move, Beth married Jack, despite her parents’ worries about the life-style they would have—he traveling, she staying behind—and their embarrassment that the father of Beth’s future children didn’t go to their church. There was, of course, no question in which faith those children would be raised. But at least she got a husband! She got something right!
The first time Jack hit her they had been married a month and her most overwhelming emotions were guilt and shame. My God, I’m the different one again! Mama would be appalled by this! Mama will never forgive me for getting myself into this mess! How can I keep screwing up and doing the wrong things over and over again? She didn’t waste any time thinking about what a badass Jack was. She desperately plotted ways to cover up the fact that she was the only one in her family who couldn’t just live the life that had been planned for her. She was riddled with guilt day and night, knowing that someday she would have to swallow her pride—pride that had been instilled in her as deeply as an organ transplant—confess her sins and do her penance. She would be the first divorce in the Sherman family.
What no one knew, except Beth herself, was that Elba Sherman’s love, forgiveness and benevolence was likely to be the most painful part of her journey—surely more painful than one of Jack’s left hooks.
He found her, of course. It only took him a week. Since Beth received so many phone calls from family members, male and female, the others in Gabby’s house found it a challenge to screen the calls. They tried, but he got right past them.
The first time he’d called, Eleanor had answered.
“Is Beth Mahoney there, please?”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Her husband, Jack Mahoney.”
“I’m terribly sorry, but Beth isn’t here. I could give her a message if I hear from her. Would you like to leave one?”
“No thanks,” he said curtly, hanging up.
The second time he called, a couple of days later, Eleanor again answered.
“Is Beth there, please?” he asked.
“May I tell her who’s calling?”
“Stephen Sherman, her brother.”
“Just a minute, please.”
She came to the phone. “Stephen?” she said.
“No, Beth, it’s me. Jack. Honey, what are you doing there?”
“Jack!”
“Honey, we have to talk. I love you, baby. I know I really screwed up this time, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. You know I do. Beth, talk to me, please.”
“Jack, I don’t think we have anything to talk about. It’s over. I’m not going to take—”
“Baby, I lost my cool. You gotta understand how a guy can overreact to some things. I’ve done a lot of thinking about the baby, and I’ve decided I was all wrong about that. We should have a baby! You’ll be the most wonderful mother. You just hit me with it when I was worrying about money and things and I—”
“How could you be worried about money? Sell some of your toys.”
“Well, that’s just it. I wouldn’t have spent all that money if I’d known we were going to have a baby! We’ll have to get a bigger place. I don’t want you walking up and down stairs in this town house if you’re pregnant! And I can’t be driving a stupid sports car if I have a son—there’s no place for a car seat. I’ll get him a sports car later. Beth, baby, I love you so much.”
“Oh God, Jack,” she said, tears coming.
“I need you to come home, so I can take care of you. What are you doing there? Who was that who answered the phone? Why are you there?”
Slowly, reluctantly, she began to regain her senses. “I’m here because you hit me, Jack. Hit me, knocked me down and demanded that I get an abortion before you came home from your trip. And I’m not moving back to the town house, no matter what you say.”
“Beth, now listen. You’re pregnant. That’s the way it is. You’re obviously intent on having this baby, so we’ll have the baby. But you can’t stay there. You have to come home—today.”
She hung up on him.
A couple of days later he got through to her again, using another brother’s name. The conversation went pretty much along the same lines. He wheedled and cajoled, claimed to be heartbroken at the prospect that she would take his child from him. She began to weaken. He begged her forgiveness and swore he’d never lay a hand on her again, but she stood up to him. He began to cry at the prospect of losing her and she felt herself wanting to pack a bag and go home to comfort him. Then she remembered. “No,” she told him. “It’s too late.” And hung up. But she cried and cried, torn up inside by his pleading.
When Eleanor took to asking male callers to give her the date of Elba Sherman’s birthday, Jack had a female call the house and ask for Beth. When she came to the phone, thinking it must be one of her sisters or sisters-in-law, it was Jack.
“Baby, I gotta see you. You’re killing me with this. I can’t take it. I want you and I want our baby. God, Beth, have some faith in me for once. Please, I’m begging you. At least see me. Talk to me. Meet me somewhere. Something!”
“No. You beat me up for seven years and I’m not giving you one more chance to trick me into thinking you can change. You’ve never changed before, even when you promised, and you won’t change now.”
“I’ll go to counseling! I’ve already talked to a counselor at the company and they’re going to give me a referral! Baby, I’ll do anything! Anything!”
“Good, you should go to counseling. Maybe your fourth marriage will be better.”
But she cried and self-doubted, rationalized and complained. “You have no idea how hard this
is,” she tearfully told her protective friends.
“I do,” Elly said. “I stared into a glass of gin for four hours once. Four hours. Just sat there and stared. Almost got high on the fumes. I didn’t stop staring until I started to sweat blood.”
“But Elly, you don’t think this is some kind of addiction!”
“Undoubtedly,” she proclaimed. “He’s in your blood. His danger has sex appeal.”
“You didn’t drink it, did you?” Sable asked.
“No. But I had an advantage over Beth. I knew gin could kill me. I knew that in choosing gin, I was choosing death. Even knowing that, it wasn’t an easy choice.”
“At least, for you, it was only four hours,” Beth said to Elly.
“Beth, he doesn’t love you,” Sable said. “He only wants to be sure no one gets half his toys and investments in a divorce. Believe me.”
“I believe you, I do,” Beth said. But she thought that in addition to that, Jack might also love her. She couldn’t help it.
Beth went to see her counselor. She went to her support group. She let everyone tell her over and over that he would hurt her, maybe kill her, that he would hurt, maybe kill the baby. No matter what he said, he was a beater. She must not give in. So she gritted her teeth and hung on. She was temporarily safe, with everyone holding her down, hammering her with the facts. She felt, though, like an alcoholic staring into a glass of gin. She was temporarily safe from Jack, but there was no one there to protect her from herself.
Sable and Barbara Ann were preparing an evening meal—low-fat—while Beth and Sarah, with Lindsey in her infant seat, sat at the kitchen table and talked about babies—something that could keep the two of them going for hours. Elly was also at the table, reading her evening paper. It was seven-thirty, which wasn’t late for the women because they always had a “cocktail hour” with some light snacks at five. From five o’clock on, there was no telling how many people might drop by, so they were always prepared to add lettuce and tomatoes to the salad, chicken breasts to the grill. David and Ed stopped by about once a week. Don had dropped in on them a couple of times and had been easily talked into staying for dinner. Mike Vaughan had brought some mail to Barbara Ann, and after a tentative appraisal of the situation, decided he was indeed as welcome as she claimed. The only one on a schedule was Ben, who came every Wednesday and Saturday like clockwork, and brought enough fresh fruit, vegetables and ice cream for everyone.
This was the time of day that everyone was at their happiest. The plagues of the workday were behind them, and so, it seemed, were the worries, guilts and fears of their personal lives. It was difficult to sulk or fret or whine when there was the community of food preparation, lubricated for those who were not pregnant or recovering alcoholics by a little wine. During this time of evening it was easy to pretend that the safety and security of living in a halfway house for lunatic women needn’t end.
At the sudden sound of the bell, Eleanor was nominated by default to answer the door. Barbara Ann instinctively reached for another tomato to cut up; Sable went to the pantry for another envelope of instant rice. And they all grew quiet for a moment, waiting to see who had come.
“Ceola!” Eleanor said from the doorway.
The women all looked at each other for a second, thinking there must be some mistake. Beth and Sarah moved quickly toward the front door while Sable and Barbara Ann were a bit slower, pausing to set down utensils, lower the flame on the stove, dry hands.
There she stood, on the stoop, one large suitcase on each side of her, a large carry-on bag over her shoulder, her purse dangling from her forearm. She looked even shorter than her five feet because she was a step beneath them. Her hair was pink and thin—the color of cotton candy, but perfectly coifed—her eye makeup a little sloppy and her rouge too dark. She wore a rich designer suit in a pale green color with rhinestone buttons on the jacket, her pearls, her diamond rings and a green pillbox hat.
“Grandma?” Sarah asked.
“Oh, hello, dear. I didn’t know you would be here, too.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“This is where I always come when I’m out of sorts about something. And I’m at odds with Martin. He’s taken up an attitude with me.”
“But why did you come here, Ceola?” Sable asked. “I mean, with Gabby gone—”
“Well, I knew you were here because Sarah and David told me you were. And, as I say, this is where I come.”
They just stared at her. She’d flown in from Atlanta? Without calling? Without notice? Expecting to stay where?
“Isn’t anyone going to invite me in? I’ve had to piddle since the airport.”
Still, it took a second to respond. The shock, and all. It was Sable who eventually said, “Of course, come in. I…ah…guess you know where the lavatory is.”
“I guess I do,” she said, entering, squeezing between them all and toddling off down the hallway like she owned the place. She left the large suitcases where they stood, but she hauled her carry-on bag with her. The size of the suitcases indicated this was not an overnight visit.
When she was around the corner and out of sight, their heads came together instantly.
“What the hell’s going on here?”
“You heard her—this is where she comes when she’s out of sorts.”
“She can’t be dumping another husband! At her age?”
“She’s probably not dumping him, just leaving him until he straightens up and asks her to come home.”
“I don’t know about that,” Sarah said. “She used to show up about once a year, for one reason or another. It wasn’t like she came for a holiday or graduation or anything. I mean, it was never to see us. It’s like she says—this is where she comes.”
“Without notice? Without asking?”
“Yeah,” Sarah said, shrugging helplessly. “Pretty much.”
“What did your mother do with her?” Beth asked.
“Oh, nothing special. She made her breakfast—”
“Gabby made someone breakfast?! In the morning?”
“Grandma sleeps kind of late. And all she wants is tea, half an English muffin and some fruit. Oh, and some marmalade. It has to be marmalade.”
“Over my dead body,” Eleanor said.
“She wouldn’t mind that,” Sarah replied. “What are you going to do with her?”
“What are we going to do with her? She’s your grandmother!”
“Oh, we don’t have a relationship. And I don’t have a spare room—Lindsey’s sleeping with Justin and me. She did call me a couple of weeks ago. She called David, too. She wanted to know if Mom had left her anything.”
“Of all the insensitive, brutal—”
“Call David,” someone suggested. “He can take her.”
“David…and Ed?”
“Well, it’s time she got with it. After all, he’s her grandson.”
“But David won’t. He nearly hates her.”
“Then he can send her home! This is nonsense.”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to get David to do that. He barely talks to her. I guess you could call Dad.”
“Call Don, Eleanor.”
“Me? Hell no. You call him.”
“What’s Don going to do?”
“He can take her to his place. We don’t have room for her here! There’s barely a surface in this house that isn’t being slept on or worked on!”
“I bet she won’t go to Don’s. This is where she comes.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
“It’s just too damn bad, that’s all. That woman has been browbeating people for seventy-odd years, getting her way no matter how inconvenient it is for others. She doesn’t have the least consideration for anyone but herself.”
“That’s true. Grandma’s pretty self-centered, but she’s awful old to change now.”
“Go tell her she can’t stay here, Sarah. Tell her she’ll have to go to a hotel.”
?
??I could tell her that, but she usually doesn’t listen to me. Oops, I’d better see about Lindsey. I left her on the table.”
They moved toward the kitchen in a sort of huddle, looking over their shoulders toward the hall, waiting for Ceola to appear.
“How long has this shit been going on? Ceola popping in like this because she’s out of sorts?”
“All my life,” Sarah said, leaning down to kiss Lindsey’s head. “I’d come home from school and there would be Grandma, relaxing on the deck, or lying back on the couch.”
“I’ve bumped into her here a few times myself,” Eleanor confessed.
“So have I,” said Sable. “It’s not usually a short visit, either.”
“A couple of weeks, minimum. I don’t know how Gabby did it.”
“Well, she managed her, was her way of putting it,” Sarah said. “Mom was always the only person in the world who could manage Grandma, as if catering to her was second nature for Mom. She knew just what to do and she just did it.”
“Well, no one around here knows what to do,” someone said.
“Where is she, anyway?”
“Piddling.”
“Jesus, she must have stored up a tank. She’s been in there a while.”
“We’re getting her out of here. She’s not staying here and that’s all there is to it.”
“Will someone please call Don?”
“Grandma didn’t like Dad very much. I don’t think he’ll be able to help with this.”
“What does she do while she’s here and out of sorts?”