A Crazy Little Thing Called Death (16 page)

O
n Monday, Libby arrived before nine, bursting into my house in a screaming pink velour suit with matching sneakers and a T-shirt that said
ROLLER COASTER
in sequins. Before she had even slammed the door shut, she demanded, “You don’t think Emma has become a call girl, do you?”

“Libby, for crying out loud, have a little faith.” I was in the scullery folding laundry.

“Well, what else could it be? She’s taking phone calls from men around the clock, making appointments for late at night. What am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to think about giving Em the benefit of the doubt.”

“In this family?”

“Has it crossed your mind that she’s not telling you what she’s doing because it drives you nuts? And Emma loves pushing your buttons?”

“She’s just ashamed of herself, that’s all.”

I didn’t think Emma had looked the least bit ashamed of whatever she had going. All I knew was that every minute Libby spent fuming about Emma was one minute she wasn’t making me crazy with wedding plans.

“Want to tell me what happened to my porch last night?”

“What a disaster!” Libby leaned against the dryer while I matched socks. “I don’t know what’s wrong with your stove, Nora, but it’s very dangerous. No sooner had I dropped a few index cards when they burst into flame! At first I thought it was the twins tormenting me again. Did I tell you they moved their collection of snakes in jars to my bedroom because theirs gets too much sunlight? They’re just too disgusting, so I brought them over and put them in your fridge. Fortunately, I saved the timeline.”

“Timeline?”

“From the fire! The bulletin board with our list of tasks to accomplish before the wedding. You have a string of things to do, by the way, so you should check it and get busy.” Without pausing to draw a breath, she said, “Did you see
Excess Hollywood
last night? There was a big story about Penny Devine.”

“I missed it.”

“Well, they had a psychic who thinks Penny went to Alaska and is hiding out among the Inuits eating whale meat!”

“Even you couldn’t have come up with that one.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just—”

“I’m a creative soul! I have bursts of inspiration! But I’m not psychic.”

Thank heaven for small favors, I thought. But I said, “Yes, you’re very creative, Libby.”

“Thank you. I’ve been thinking about cake.”

“Oh?”

“Wedding cakes, of course. It’s very popular to have exotic flavors these days, did you know? So I thought we could experiment a little.”

“Can’t we just buy a cake when the time comes?”

Libby blew an exasperated sigh. “Nora, when are you going to get into the spirit of this wedding? If you don’t put your heart and soul into the planning, you can’t expect the most wonderful day of your life to be meaningful!”

At that moment, I was simply hoping my wedding day might not include a house fire. “I’m not sure I find cake flavors very meaningful, Lib.”

“You will,” she said ominously. “Look, I’ve bought everything we need. I thought we could bake this morning.”

“Your mother-in-law is driving you up the wall,” I guessed.

“She’s making me crazy,” Libby agreed. “So let’s bake some cakes!”

I gave up trying to save my own sanity. “Fine.”

“Oh, wait. Here. Lucy sent this for you.”

Libby handed me a piece of construction paper on which my niece had drawn some figures on an ocean of green grass dotted with flowers.

“It’s a self-portrait,” Libby explained. “One of her best representational drawings. That’s Lucy riding a pony, and you picking flowers.”

The flower looked more like a severed hand to me, but I didn’t say so.

“I don’t know why I shouldn’t just bring her over here and let you raise her,” Libby said. “You’re all she wants to talk about.”

With a smile, I put Lucy’s drawing on my refrigerator, anchored with a magnetic bottle opener. My first refrigerator picture.

“Now,” Libby said, “where are your measuring cups?”

“The twins were using them downstairs. Why don’t you go down and get them?”

“Why don’t we just improvise!”

While I puttered, taking care of household chores, Libby mixed and baked a cake. Without burning down anything.

“Have you seen that dog-whisperer guy?” she asked. “I wonder if I could hire him to retrain the twins?”

Around noon, the insurance adjuster arrived. I met him at the front door, and we walked around the outside of the house to the porch. A shy man with a clipboard, he resisted my attempt at small talk until we reached the backyard. There, he shook his head sorrowfully over the ruined structure and asked if the fire department had sent an arson investigator.

“The fire was caused by a wedding,” I told him.

“A wedding?” He made a note. “Well, that’s a first.”

Libby must have finally noticed I was in the company of a man, because she came out onto the porch. Over her pink velour suit, she had added a frilly apron, and she looked like a Stepford wife dressed for an Easter egg hunt. With pot holders, she carried a cake pan.

“Hello!” she yodeled.

The insurance adjuster took off his reading glasses and put one hand up to shield his eyes from the blinding sunlight. Or perhaps the mesmerizing power of my sister’s bosom. “Uh, good afternoon.”

“I’m Nora’s sister Libby. And you are?”

Politely, he went up the charred steps of the porch. “I’m Gerald Hopkins. From the insurance company.” He moved to shake her hand, but belatedly became aware that she was carrying a hot pan. He stepped back as if it might burst into flame at any moment. “Is that the cause of the blaze, ma’am?”

“Certainly not. This is fresh out of the oven. It’s mango lemon. Doesn’t it smell heavenly?”

“Uh, yes, it does.”

“I was hoping to get an unbiased opinion. Do you see anything extraordinary on the top of this cake?”

Mr. Hopkins put on his reading glasses again and peered down at the surface of Libby’s confection. “Looks pretty much like a cake to me.”

“Are you sure? You don’t happen to see a likeness?”

“A likeness?” I went up the stairs, too. “Libby, you’re not seeing the Virgin Mary or Elvis or some such nonsense, are you?”

“Of course not. That would be sacrilegious, not to mention very tacky. No, look, Nora, don’t you think the top of this cake looks rather like Tom Cruise?”

“The movie star?” Gerald Hopkins peeked at the cake again. “My wife loves Tom Cruise.”

Libby’s face fell. “Your wife?”

“Ex-wife,” Gerald corrected unwillingly, as if forced to reveal an ugly fact about himself. “We used to cook together. Until she developed an allergy and switched to all raw foods. I don’t know about you, but that raw diet just about ruined my insides.”

“How thoughtless of her! You poor man!”

“I’m better now.” He blinked as if finally becoming aware of more than my sister’s physical attributes, then caught himself staring and looked down at the cake again. “Come to think of it, I do see a profile there. And it does have Tom Cruise’s nose, doesn’t it?”

“And his chin,” Libby said. “Look again.”

“You should take a photo and put it on eBay. My wife made a fortune on eBay. Sold my old saxophone in two days. Before I had a chance to bid myself, it was gone.”

“Ex-wife,” Libby corrected. “Right?”

“Right, right.”

“EBay,” Libby said. “What a brilliant idea.”

I went into the house. I figured Mr. Hopkins would find me when he finished talking to Libby.

Michael had been making phone calls all morning, but now he was assembling a hasty sandwich in the kitchen.

He ate hurriedly at the sink.

“You’re trying to get out of here while Libby’s distracted, aren’t you?”

“Think it’s going to work?”

“Eat faster,” I advised.

But too late. Libby came back inside, carrying her cake. “What a charming man!”

“Don’t ask,” I murmured to Michael. “Libby, you’re incorrigible.”

“Why? Whatever do you mean?”

“Did you make a date with him?”

“No.” Her smile twinkled. “But he’s coming back tomorrow to have a second look at the—um—damage. Oh, good, you’re both here! We can get some wedding planning done!”

Mouth full, Michael sent me a frightened look.

“Libby, I don’t think we—”

“Let’s start at the beginning. Have you discussed a date?”

Michael swallowed hard. “A date?”

“Of course, a date! For the ceremony! We need to narrow down our reception choices.” She located her bulletin board and propped it on the kitchen counter beside the coffeepot. Then she opened a pack of index cards and reached for her pushpins. “And, of course, the size of the wedding makes a difference. How many guests were you planning to invite?”

“Do we need guests?” Michael turned to me. “Can’t it just be us?”

Libby exploded. “I’m dealing with amateurs! No, it can’t just be the two of you! It’s—it’s illegal or something. You need witnesses! Friends and family to toast your future! Bridesmaids in beautiful gowns!”

“Libby—”

“What kind of wedding did you have in mind?” Libby asked Michael.

“The usual kind, I guess.”

“In a church? Under a tent? At a hotel? In a garden, perhaps?”

“Uh—”

“I envision a lovely landscape—with water, perhaps. Swans, flower petals cast upon the waves, that kind of thing. Maybe children blowing those gigantic bubbles into the air. I’m not a fan of doves, though. They look like pigeons to me.”

Blankly, Michael said, “Pigeons.”

“We don’t need any of that,” I said in a rush. “There’s no earthly reason why we can’t have a quiet, private little—”

“I know what’s wrong,” Libby said. In a voice full of authority practiced during years of motherhood, she commanded, “Sit down, you two.”

We sat.

“Now, look,” she said, standing over us with a pushpin in each hand. “I understand you have been through a difficult time. God knows, I’ve had enough trying experiences for more than one lifetime, but my personal tragedies have given me wisdom and insight that I’m only too happy to share. You can’t allow the loss of your unborn child to color the rest of your life together.”

“Please, Lib—”

She held up one hand to silence me. “It’s very painful, I know. I’ve been there, and miscarrying was one of the most devastating events I’ve ever suffered. I feared I might become inadequate in the eyes of my lover. I feared I might never experience the rapture of childbirth. And perhaps most agonizing of all, I feared I would never enjoy the passion of lovemaking again without dreading the loss of the baby we might be conceiving. It was terrible. So I sympathize.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But—”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I am channeling all your worst fears, Nora. I know exactly how you’re feeling. Which puts me in the perfect position to help plan your wedding.”

“Maybe,” Michael said, half rising, “I should run along and let the two of you—”

“The man’s input is vital!” Libby thundered so loudly that Michael was catapulted back into the chair. “How can we possibly decide the color of the table linens without hearing your thoughts? If left to our own devices, we might accidentally choose something that reminds you of a terrible childhood trauma!”

“Well, I don’t recall any color traumas—”

Libby gave me the pushpins and laid a consoling hand on Michael’s shoulder. “You’re suffering, too,” she said soothingly. “The loss of a child isn’t just a female tragedy, is it? But you can’t allow one bump in your road to happiness to ruin everything. Think of your wedding as a renewal—an opportunity to begin again, to open the door to a new chapter in your life.”

“Sounds great,” Michael said, “but—”

“There will be more children,” Libby assured him. “In today’s world, nature and science can work wonders together.”

“I really don’t think we’re going to need any—”

“In fact,” Libby went on, “if Nora finds herself incapable of carrying a child to term, I volunteer my own womb to help you.”

“Uh—”

She was beaming. “That’s it! I’ll be your surrogate, Nora! God knows, I’ve delivered each of my five children as easily as a Chinese peasant drops babies in a rice paddy, so I’m the perfect candidate! Just think! The three of us could attend Lamaze classes together! And the birthing room will be one big family party!”

“Lib, you’re very generous, but we don’t need to think about extreme measures right now—”

“We don’t need to think about extreme measures at all,” Michael said. “We’re not going to make any Frankenstein babies, so you can forget it.”

“But—”

He was on his feet. “Look, the two of you can talk weddings as long as you like, but I’ve got things to do.”