The Saving Graces (28 page)

   He didn't hear me. He turned, reaching down for a slab of wood that had flown sideways. He saw me and straightened, started to smile. Then he stood motionless, the long-handled ax hanging limp from his fist.
"They called." He came toward me, dropping the ax, crunching over wood scraps and bark in his ashy work boots. "Where's your coat? You'll freeze out here." Everything got very clear again. Muddy dust on the black windowpanes of the garage, dark places between the bricks where the mortar's gone, a tear-shaped coffee stain on the breast of Henry's plaid jacket. "I'm not pregnant. It didn't work." "Lee. Honey." He reached out to touch me, just my elbow with his fingertips. I flinched. He drew back.
"It's over." "W/hat?" "Four times. That's enough. I'm not doing it anymore." I waited for him to nod in sad understanding and then hold me, tell me it was the right decision. "It's over," he echoed, but more to himself. Perspiration was drying on the smooth skin of his forehead. He looked into my eyes-making sure I was all right. I felt very little; almost nothing. Fatigue, mostly. "Okay." Henry swallowed. "You're sure?" "Yes." He turned and went back to his chopping block, began to throw chunks of wood into the wheelbarrow. I waited while he bent and twisted, snagging pieces in both hands, lobbing them underhand, never missing. I caught a glimpse of his face. By accident-he was trying to keep it turned from me. He was crying.
Shock kept me from moving. I started to feel something. Heat, like a burn widening in the center of my chest. "Henry?" I grabbed for his arm-got the sleeve of his coat. I kept pulling and pulling until he had to face me. Tears streaked down his cold, ruddy cheeks. "Is it wrong? I'll keep doing it. Darling, I'll go back, we can try again." "No. I don't want you to do it anymore, Lee, I want you to stop. I'm-it's-" "Sad." He undid the leather buttons of his jacket and pulled me inside, wrapped me up in it, and in a minute his body heat began to ease the burning in my chest. I put my hands on the wet sides of his face and held him. I had never seen Henry cry, never, never. It melted me. It thawed me from the inside. - "I'm so sorry." "Don't say that-" "So sorry. Oh, Henry, I'm so sorry." "It's all right." He held me harder. "Lee, I love you." "I know. Oh, I'm so sorry." I gave in and wept.
And it didn't hurt. It didn't sting like acid in the backs of my eyes, didn't make me feel afraid and desperate. Henry cried, too, and I thought maybe the mixing of our tears was helping to take the pain away. I know it was a beginning. Hopelessness is a blessing sometimes, Isabel told me once, and now I see it's true.
"Come inside with me. We can warm each other," I said, and that's how it started. Henry and I began to heal.

   In early February, Isabel finally had the Graces' meeting at her house. She'd canceled at the last minute for the last two weeks in a row-once she was too tired, once she had a late doctor's appointment-but when I called to confirm on the Thursday afternoon, she said, "Yes, come, come, I can't wait to see you:' On the way to her apartment, I drove down Connecticut Avenue behind a Subaru station wagon. At every red light between Van Ness and the zoo, two little girls in the back waved to me. I waved back the first few times, even blew a kiss; but they grew wilder and sillier at each stop, and soon I put on a calm, adult face to settle them down. They were about six-or seven, not sisters but best friends, I decided, one dark, one fair. They pressed their noses flat to the glass, stuck - out their tongues, ducked below the window and then jumped up, "scaring" me with grotesque faces. The laughing and shrieking must have gotten too loud: they faced forward abruptly, mirth fading, while the woman in the driver's seat apparently laid down the law. After that the little girls only gave me a couple of backward glances and a grin or two-conspiratorial, I imagined. But I was quickly forgotten, and at Woodley Street the Subaru turned off. - I drove for a few more blocks before it hit me: I hadn't cried. In the past, and not so long ago, I would have. I believe I may be growing a shell around my heart.

   Henry and I are childless. Childless. I say it out loud sometimes, because I believe in calling a spade a spade.
This is a secret: I've thought of calling Dr. Green-burg, Rudy's therapist, and making an appointment Wouldn't that amaze the Graces? Lee, the normal one, needing a shrink? I probably won't, though. These days it's old-fashioned, but I also believe in the ideal of self- sufficiency, the individual's responsibility for her own happiness. It's not that I disapprove of psychological counseling for others-I wouldn't last long in my profession with that attitude-but I don't think it's for me. It's not part of my heritage, if you will. Pavliks don't go to psychiatrists. Besides, how would I explain it to my mother?
At Isabel's, Emma answered the door. "Where is she?" I asked in a low voice. "Is she okay?" "Sure, she's in the kitchen. Come on in." Isabel was sitting at the table. She didn't get up, but she held her arms out to me. I gave her a long, soft hug. "How. are you? How do you feel? You look beautiful." Yes, but also frail and tired. Her sweater and slacks dwarfed her body, just as her wig had gotten too big for her bony face. I wished she wouldn't wear it anymore; I liked her own short, patchy, brittle hair better.
She said what she always says-"I'm just fine," patting my back and beaming at me with so much gladness, I got a lump in my throat. "What have you got in your bag?" she asked.
"Dinner. Did you make the rice?" Even though she'd insisted on having the -meeting at her house, we wouldn't let her do anything except make brown rice. That's the new staple in her diet nowadays.
"Kirby did," she said. "He's not here, he's acting in a play tonight. Said to give everyone his love." "What a guy." Emma looked up from chopping vegetables for the salad. "Not many men send their love. They think it's not manly or something." "That's true," I said. "Henry just sent his 'best.' Emma, what is that? Is that spinach?" "Yeah?" "Isabel can't eat that." "Oh, shit. Isabel?" She shrugged, smiled. "That's the theory." "Well, I've also got chicory," Emma said defensively. "You can eat that, it's very yang. Rhubarb, though, is almost completely yin, did you know that? So don't eat it." "Show-off," Isabel said. We've all bought macrobiotic cookbooks, and now we take turns bringing meals over to Isabel's a few nights a week. It gives Kirby a break.
"Rudy's late," Emma noted. "What else is new. Maybe she won't show up at all." "Has anybody talked to her?" - "Not really," Isabel said. "She comes by to see me once in a while, but she never stays. She's in and out, and she won't talk about herself." "A troubling anomaly in itself," Emma muttered.
I caught Isabel's eye. Whatever was wrong with Rudy, it was hurting Emma the most. Until now, as far as I knew, they had never kept a secret from each other.
For myself, I couldn't help feeling - Rudy had let the whole group down, not only Emma. Yes, she had problems-so what? Who didn't? Whatever was bothering her, and I had no idea what it was, it couldn't possibly be worse than Isabel's situation. If ever there was one, this was a time for rallying round, not wallowing in one's own private neuroses. - I didn't say that out loud, of course. It would have broken a rule-one I didn't make up, by the way; in fact, we've never even put this rule into words, never discussed it. If one person says something negative about another person in the group (Emma's "troubling anomaly" remark, for example), nobody else is allowed to chime in with another negative comment. Because that would throw off the balance; it would be ganging up. It's never happened, but I can imagine the rule relaxing slightly during those times when we have five members instead of four. But as I say, it's never happened. If any-thing, now that I~ think of it, we become even more homogeneous when we're five. We core four do, I mean. As if we're closing ranks, sending a message to the poor fifth- person, the transient, that she'd better not criticize one of us to the others. - - - "At least she's not drinking," Emma said, as if she wanted to make up for being snotty before. "As far as we know. Then again, how the hell would we know?" "She's unhappy, Emma," Isabel said.
"I know that." She was rhythmically pulverizing a broccoli floret. "But who isn't? You know?" "How's your writing going these days?" When she glared at me, I realized I might not have timed that question perfectly.
"I threw it out," she snarled.
"Oh, no! Your mystery?" - "Is that what it was? Thanks for telling me, I never knew for sure." "What will you try next?" Isabel asked.
"Well. . . I was thinking maybe a romance." I laughed. "You?" But she wasn't kidding. "Sorry," I said when I realized it. "I just thought, you know, it's possible you're too. .
"What? I'm too what?" "Cynical. Maybe. For romance. But what do I know." "Yeah, what do you know." - "I don't think you're too cynical," Isabel said thoughifully. "In fact, I don't think you're cynical at all." Emma blushed.
After a moment, she surprised me by bumping my hip with hers as we stood at our side-by-side cutting boards. "Your turn, Lee-Lee. How are you doing?" That's a term of endearment Emma uses only on very rare occasions, mostly when she's had too much wine. Or when she's afraid she's hurt my feelings. "Oh," I said, "I'm all right." "Really?" "Really." I told them about the two little girls in the car, and how I hadn't cried. "Mostly, I think I feel relief." "You did the right thing," Emma said quickly, "I mean, for what that's worth, but I'd hate it if you had regrets." "Well." There are regrets, and there are regrets. "We did everything, there was nothing left to try." "Right. You did it all, so you can't look back and-" "Although we could've gotten on an egg donor list." "But enough's enough." "We thought so. We both felt it was the right time to stop." "How is Henry?" "He's better, too. We're better together." I laughed. "We're starting to remember why we used to like each other." "Oh, I'm glad." Emma gave me a shove with her shoulder-another uncommon gesture of affection. "Tell the big lug I send hini my best." "Should we wait for Rudy or should I start cooking?" I was making a stir-fry with winter squash, turnips, lotus root, and chickpeas. I'd made it before-it's not as bad as it sounds.
Isabel said, "Wait," at the same moment Emma said, "Cook." "I'll wait a few more minutes," I decided. I joined Emma and Isabel at the table, bringing a glass of wine for me and a fresh cup of bancha tea for Isabel. Kirby makes about a gallon of it for her every morning. She swears it's doing her good. - "How's your love life?" 1 asked Emma. I felt a little self-conscious, introducing such a frivolous topic. Shouldn't we have been discussing important things, like the meaning of life? We never did, though. We talked about the same old things we'd always talked about. Isabel didn't seem to mind; these days she didn't say much herself, but she would smile her soft smile, let- ting her eyes rest calmly, peacefully on whoever was speaking. Sometimes I wasn't sure she was even paying attention to the words; she looked so dreamy, she might've just been listening to our voices.
"My love life?" Emma slid down in the chair on her spine. "It's an oxymoron." She had on all black tonight, black jeans, black sweater, black boots. Let's hope it's a phase, because it's not her color.
"I thought you were dating that real estate guy.'~ "Stuart. Not anymore." "Well, what about the lawyer from EPA, Bill, Will-" "Phil. That didn't work out." I sighed. "Well, I don't know what to do. I ran out of people to fix you up with about a year ago." "The lone firm spot in the quagmire of my life." "Ingrate." "Pimp." "So there's no one?" Isabel's voice has changed, I can't imagine why. It's higher, lighter, a little breathy. She ran her index finger back and forth across the top of Emma's hand, a way of saying, Let's be serious for a seeond. I didn't like to look at her wrist bone poking out of the sleeve of her sweatshirt; it was too white and sharp, the skin stretched too tight. "Are you sure, Em? Nobody at all?" Emma looked at her in alarm -as if she was afraid Isabel might know something she didn't want her to know. Then she ducked her head and stared down at the wineglass balanced on her stomach. When she didn't answer, I thought of something. - "Whatever happened to that man who was married?" "The one I'd rather not talk about?" she snapped.
"Well, excuse-" "Oh, Lee, I'm sorry." She smiled, trying to make me smile. "I'm sorry, I keep doing that. It's just that this guy. . ." She shook her head.
"But that was months ago, that was last spring.
You're still- not over him yet? Em, I'm sorry, I just didn't know. You should've said something." She'd never even told us his name.
She glanced at Isabel. "Maybe I should have. But the thing is, the man is married. So I haven't felt that comfortable talking about him." "But you didn't do anything," I pointed out. "Or-" Hm.
"We didn't. As it happens." But she didn't look very happy about it. - "So-do you really love him?" She scowled. "Yeah, but let's not talk about it. Nothing's going to change, so what's the point. What?" she demanded of Isabel, who was only watching her. "No words of wisdom from you?" She said it snidely, but I was sure I saw hope in her eyes.
Isabel gave Emma's hand a squeeze. "What a mess," she said softly. "The real thing at last." "Yeah." She tried to smile. "My luck," "It still might work out." "I don't think so, Is. I think it's safe to say I lost this one:' We sat in a sad circle, not speaking until I couldn't help asking, "Why is everything bad happening to all of us at once?" I turned toward Isabel, and so did Emma -as if she might know the answer. "Is it karma? Some group sin we committed a long time ago and can't remember?" "I know-it's because of that time we lied to what's-her-name, that awful recruit of yours, Lee, about the Graces breaking up, just so we could get rid of her." Isabel laughed. "I don't think we've committed a sin. Karma-if there is such a thing," she said for Emma's benefit, "- isn't a punishment, it's a lesson. We have to learn them all sometime. If not in this life..
She smiled and let that hang.
"The karmic- curriculum." Emma grinned.
"Exactly;" "Well, I don't like it," I said. "These are horrible lessons, I never want to learn them." Isabel just smiled, but Emma said grimly, "I'm with you," and in that moment I felt closer to her. Closer, in fact, than I felt to Isabel.
We decided to start dinner without Rudy. I was sautéing the bok choy when the doorbell rang. "About damn time," Emma grumbled, but she was relieved, I could tell. "I'll get it."
Over the sound of popping oil, I heard her say, Jesus! What's wrong?" I turned. Isabel crouched, half in and half out of her chair, staring into the living room with shock on her face. Rudy appeared in the kitchen doorway, ahead of Emma. I turned off the stove and ran to her. - "Rudy, what happened? Did you have an accident?"
"What?" She looked at me through a blur of tears. Her streaming face went bright red, and she made a strangled sound, like a sob. "Did I what?" Emma clutched at her coat sleeve, which was dotted with melted snow. When Isabel struggled to her feet and started toward her, Rudy finally said, "I'm okay, nobody died, nobody's hurt," and Isabel wobbled with relief- we all did.
"Sit," Emma ordered-, taking her arms out of her coat and pushing her down in a chair. "Tell us what happened. You didn't have an accident, that's one-" "No, I did. Just now, in front of your house." "My house?" Emma stared.
"I forgot we were meeting. i've been driving and driving, and then I went to your house, and I hit a fire- plug trying to park. But it doesn't matter, it was Curtis's BMW." She reached out for Emma's wineglass and drank two large swallows, gasping afterward.
We darted glances over her head. Was she drunk? I brought a-box of tissues from the windowsill and set it in front of her. She plucked out three at once and buried her face in the pile. She looked awful, her hair sticking out in wet spikes, her eyes bloodshot and frantic. She balled the tissues in her fist and swallowed. "Okay. This is what happened. Curtis said he has cancer and he might be dying." "No!" I cried. Emma hissed in her breath. Isabel said, "Oh, my God,-my God," and collapsed in her chair.
"No!" Rudy grabbed her hand. "No, it's okay," she said, gray eyes swimming again, her hand squeezing Isabel's much too hard. "He doesn't, he's fine, it's all right!" "What? Oh, thank God," Isabel breathed, staring, bewildered.
Rudy laughed and let go of her hand. Such a strange laugh; it made me shiver. "I've left him. Can I stay with you?" Emma nodded stupidly. "You've what?" "Rudy, for the Lord's sake," Isabel said, "tell us what happened." Emma and I dropped down on either side of Rudy, and the three of us leaned in toward her, riveted. She gave a little hiccup of laughter, this one much more natural. "You guys-thank God-" She blew her nose again, and then she told us the story.
"Okay. Last November, Curtis told me he'd just been diagnosed with chronic lymphocytic leukemia- CLL. There's no cure, but it isn't always fatal. He said his kind was slow, he might not die for five or ten years, and they might even have a cure by then. He was very hopeful." "Wait-but you're saying he doesn't have leukemia," I said to clarify. "He does not have it." - "He does not have it." "Jesus fucking Christ." Emma stared, pressing her forehead up with her fingertips, making her eyes go even wider.
"I thought it was strange that he had so few doctor appointments, and when he did he'd never let me go with him. He didn't want me to be upset, he said. He took pills every morning, but that was all:' Rudy looked around at us helplessly. "I think they were vitamins." "Holy God." "He seemed fine most of the time, and he was in really good spirits. I thought they'd put him on Prozac or even speed or something, to keep him from being depressed. Once in a while he'd say he was weak or dizzy because his white count was off, and I remember one time at the movies when he had double vision." "Double vision? Caused by leukemia?" Emma's disbelief made us laugh, but the story wasn't funny yet. I didn't see how it ever could be.
"He said the doctors had told him his symptoms were normal, that he'd have episodes from time to time, I shouldn't worry. Now I can see that the episodes only happened when we were fighting. Not even really fighting, just arguing, or when he wasn't getting his way. Or when I begged him to at least let me tell Eric. And you guys," she said, but she was looking at Emma. "He wouldn't let me tell you. He made me pro-prom-" She broke down in fresh tears.
"Oh, Rudy." Emma put her arms around her. "It's all right, it's okay. Rudy," she said, rocking her, "it's okay, I forgive you." Isabel and I both got misty-eyed. It sounded funny when Emma said, "I forgive you," and yet it was so clear to me that that's what Rudy wanted. Forgiveness.