On This Day (6 page)

W
e’re pretty good nanny team,” I say to Elizabeth as she changes little Amy’s diaper. Were both sitting on the bed, one on either side of the baby I help hold those wiggling legs still and hand Elizabeth what she needs from the diaper bag.

“There,” says Elizabeth as she snaps up Amy’s pale pink pajamas. “That should do it.”

“Aren’t these disposable diapers a wonder?” I marvel as I take the little bundle to the wastebasket in the bathroom.

“They’ve sure come a long way from when my kids were little. Those old disposables might’ve kept the baby’s bottom dry, but everything else would end up totally soaked.”

I laugh as I wash my hands. “I remember laundering cloth diapers the old-fashioned way. We didn’t even have a dryer back then, so I had to hang them on the line. In the wintertime I’d take them
down, and they would be frozen solid. I’d carry them into the house like a stack of giant crisp white crackers.”

“Oh, the good old days,” says Elizabeth in a teasing tone.

“You know, they
were
good.” I ease my old self into the chair across from the bed. “They weren’t easy, mind you, but they were
good.”
I sigh to think of how much things have changed. “Life was so much simpler back then.”

“Did you have a good marriage, Margaret?” asks Elizabeth suddenly.

I’m taken aback, not sure where this came from, but I answer her honestly. “It was good …and sometimes not so good …but mostly it was good.”

Elizabeth picks up the baby, cradling tiny Amy in her arms. “Tell me about the ‘not so good.’”

I study this young woman—well, young by my standards—and I wonder why she is so curious about my marriage to Calvin. After observing her at the luncheon, I suspect she’s having marital problems of her own. She seemed to be ignoring her husband. “It’s funny you should ask,” I begin, happy to share my tale with anyone willing to listen. “I was just thinking about my husband today—and missing him.” I sigh. “I suppose weddings do that to us, make us remember when we were young brides, when the world seemed so full of hope and great expectations. So long ago …”

“How long?”

“More than sixty years ago. Calvin passed on just before our sixtieth anniversary last year.”

“Wow, that is a long time.”

I smile. “Yes, that’s just what I was thinking today. Sixty years sounds so far away. We got married during the war. It seemed everyone was getting married back then. Calvin and I had been good friends in high school. We’d even dated a few times, but it had never been very serious. Then during the summer of ’44, he started coming by on a more regular basis. I knew he was going to be shipped off to the Pacific any day, and I also knew he was scared. Oh, he never admitted as much; men didn’t show their emotions much back then, but I could see it in his eyes. Boys had been coming home wounded and broken—or in coffins.” I pause as I remember how my older brother came home a mere shell of the robust young man he’d been when he left home only six months earlier. “The war was a very serious thing.”

“And so he proposed?”

“Yes. I was surprised, but at the same time not. And of course I accepted. We were married by a justice of the peace, and after only two weeks of married life, he was shipped off.”

“You must’ve been brokenhearted,” says Elizabeth as she gently rocks the baby back and forth on my bed. I can see that Amy is almost asleep now.

“I wouldn’t say ‘brokenhearted,’” I admit. “Of course I was worried for his welfare, but at the same time I was a bit overwhelmed at the whole idea of being married. I suppose I’d considered myself a somewhat independent girl. I’d been working in my father’s office and living in my own apartment. And suddenly, after
I was married, I was sharing that apartment with a man, as it turned out, I barely knew. Believe me, there was a lot of adjusting to be done on both sides.”

Elizabeth nods. “I can imagine.”

“So although I never told anyone, I was slightly relieved to wave good-bye from the docks. I wanted him to come back, all right, and certainly in one piece, but I didn’t mind returning to my single-girl lifestyle.” I have to laugh now. “Of course, I had no idea I was pregnant at the time. As a result, my single-girl lifestyle was about to be drastically changed.”

“Wow, a baby in your first year of marriage. That must’ve been a challenge.”

“It was … but then it seemed everyone was going through challenges in those days. You learned to just take things in stride. I kept my little apartment and worked as long as I could. But it was while Calvin was away that I felt I really got to know my husband. He wrote me several times a week. And the things he wrote were so personal, so revealing, I not only began to feel I knew this man, but I began to really love him too.”

“So you must’ve been glad when he came home?”

“Oh, I was over-the-moon glad. But I quickly learned that most of my expectations for marriage weren’t very realistic.”

On I ramble, memories coming so fast I can hardly get them all out. Suddenly I realize I must be boring poor Elizabeth. “Forgive me,” I tell her. “I am going on and on.”

“No, it’s all right,” she says as she eases the now sleeping baby from her arms and onto the center of my bed.

“You did that nicely,” I tell her.

Elizabeth stands up and stretches her arms and then arranges the pillows like guardrails in case the baby should decide to roll, which I don’t think is even possible at this tender age. “Unless you’re tired, that is,” says Elizabeth as she takes the chair across from me.

I laugh. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m always tired.”

“No, no,” she says. “I didn’t mean that.”

“And I’m sure you must have things to do,” I say. “What with your husband and sons and whatnot.”

“The boys won’t be here until later this afternoon,” she tells me. “Patrick had to work until noon, and then they’re driving up together.”

“What’s your husband up to?”

She looks out the window and sighs. “Oh, he planned to hike around some.”

“And you don’t want to join him?”

She sighs and leans back. “Not so much.”

Something tells me all is not well with Elizabeth and Phil, but I’ve never been one to pry. Instead, we both sit and admire the sleeping baby; then I continue my tale.

I
wake up and groggily look around. Where am I? I stare at the knotty-pine walls and the dark, plaid-covered furnishings, nothing like what you’d find in my sophisticated home. Then slowly it comes back to me—I’m still out here in the sticks. And I’ll be here for one more night in order to attend this ridiculous frontier family wedding. I rub my throbbing head and look at the clock. I must’ve been out for more than an hour. Then it hits me—my stomach is twisting and turning, and I barely make it to the tiny bathroom in time to lose my lunch into the toilet. Although it seems a fairly liquid sort of lunch. How many martinis did I drink, anyway? And why did I do something this stupid in the first place?

As I rinse my mouth and face in the old-fashioned sink—the kind that’s attached to the wall—I suddenly remember why. It hits
me like a slap in the face: Jim is having an affair with Nicole. And although my nausea is pretty much gone, I feel sicker than ever inside. I feel like I want to die.

Where is he right now? What is he doing? Off in some secret hideaway, pretending to work? I consider going out to look for him, walking right in on the two of them, catching them in the act and then yelling so loudly that everyone knows exactly what’s going on. I imagine them scrambling for their clothes, trying to hide their shame, while everyone looks on with disgust. Then people might comfort me, tell me that he’s not worth it and that I’ll probably get some great divorce settlement since he’s the one who’s cheating on me.

But instead I fall back onto the rumpled bed, limp as the damp washcloth I’ve placed over my burning forehead.
What am I going to do? What am I going to do?
But before I can answer this question, I feel myself drifting again. Not into a peaceful slumber or a pleasant escape but what feels like a frightening kind of tortured coma. The last thought I am cognizant of is,
What goes around comes around. Goes around comes around
—and I feel the room spinning around and around and around with the words.

I see that another hour has passed when I wake up. I force myself to get out of bed, take a shower, fix my hair and face, and then put on my new Fendi jogging suit. Not that I jog, but I want something that looks classy yet casual while I do some exploring around this rustic place. Suddenly I am determined to find my philandering husband—determined to humiliate him if possible.
After all, he deserves it. I even wear flats for this mission, and I stop by the gift shop in the lobby to get a bottle of Sprite and some Advil for my throbbing head and even a sun visor that goes nicely with my periwinkle velour jogging suit. I glance at myself in the mirror by the door. Okay, maybe I’m not at my best, but I can still hold my own. And even if Nicole is younger than I am, I still have a few miles left on me, a few tricks that haven’t been played yet.

So I walk around and around. I even ask a few people if they’ve seen my Jim, but no one seems to know where he is. Why hadn’t I thought to find out where they were “working”? I can be so naive at times. Finally I’m hot and winded and ready to give up. The afternoon sun seems to be getting to me. I heard the air is thinner up here, and it must be true, because I’m fairly lightheaded, so I sit down on a log bench to catch my breath. I actually lower my head between my knees. Not an attractive look, if you know what I mean. But it almost feels as if I’m going to throw up.

“Are you okay?”

I sit up straight and squint at the man standing in front of me. As it turns out, it’s Elizabeth’s no-good, cheating husband—Phil, is it?

“No, I’m
not
okay!” I snap at him, standing and looking him right in the eyes, almost as if I were seeing Jim instead of this man I barely know.

“Do you need help?” His expression grows bewildered.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But if I did need help, I wouldn’t go looking for it from someone like you.”

Now he looks totally baffled. Of course he has no idea that I know what I know, but he should know he’s a complete jerk. Or do men ever get this? I’m not sure. But he doesn’t say anything, just steps away as if he thinks he’s come across a crazy woman. Maybe he has!

“That’s right.” I continue my attack, unwilling to let him off the hook. “Run away. Just like all the rest of the cheating husbands in this world. Put your tail between your legs and just run.”

“Are you okay?”
he asks again. “I mean, you look a bit flushed. Have you been in the sun too long? You want me to call someone?”

“No thanks!”

“Okay then …” He steps back once more.

I shake my fist at him. “I know what you’re doing. I’ve talked to your wife, and you’re just as bad as my husband, and you—you should be ashamed of yourself!”

“What do you mean you’ve talked to my wife? What are you talking about?”

“Elizabeth told all me about you. She knows everything! And she’s a good person too. You don’t deserve someone as sweet as she is. You men are all alike. You get tired of the old model and think you can trade us in for something newer and flashier. Well, it’s about time you learned that we won’t put up with it anymore!” Then I shake my fist at him and storm off. I can hear him calling after me, asking me what I’m talking about and if I’m okay. He even follows me for a bit, but I simply pretend he’s not there. However, I start to feel uncomfortable as we get closer to the lodge. He’s
right behind me, still asking questions. And I worry that someone will see him making a spectacle of himself—and me.

“Leave me alone!” I turn and yell at him. “What are you, some kind of stalker or something?”

Clearly embarrassed, he turns and quickly goes the other direction.

Men! Can’t live with them, can’t kill them—well, not legally, anyway.

As I go back into the lodge, somewhat pacified by my attack on Elizabeth’s husband since I never found my own, I am hit with a sudden urge to talk to her again. I feel like this woman really gets me. Oh, we’re from different circles, and she may not appreciate things like real designer clothes and good shoes, but on some level I feel we could relate. Or maybe it’s just that we have the cheating husband thing in common. But at the moment I’d really like to find her again, and I’d like her to sit down and have another drink with me.

I glance around the lobby, hoping to spy her. She seems the type who might be curled up in a corner with a big novel. But, no, she doesn’t seem to be around. I do spy the bridesmaid girl sitting in a corner with a magazine. Now what was her name? Something Scandinavian as I recall.

“Olga?” I try tentatively as I walk toward her.

She looks up blankly. “Are you talking to me?”

“I know we met at lunch, but—”

“Ingrid,” she offers, nodding to the chair next to her.

“Thanks.” But I don’t sit down. “Have you seen Elizabeth by any chance?”

“Not for a while. But I think she’s helping Margaret watch Laura’s baby this afternoon.”

“Margaret?”

“You know, the older woman at lunch. She’s Jenny’s grandma.”

“Oh yes, right.” I nod and pretend I’m not as oblivious as I may appear. “And Laura was the other woman? The one with the baby?”

“Right. Elizabeth and Margaret wanted to give Laura some time to rest before the wedding.”

“Wasn’t that nice?” I say. “Do you know where Margaret’s room is?”

She tells me where she thinks it is, and I thank her and leave. I’m not sure about bursting in on the two baby-sitters, but I feel an urgent need to talk to Elizabeth. Besides, how many women does it take to watch one tiny baby? Not that I have experience with such things. But, after all, it’s only a baby. I, on the other hand, am a woman in serious distress. Surely Elizabeth can spare a few minutes for me.