Don't Cry Now (25 page)

“I was sick!”

“You were always sick!”

“And you blame me?”

“No!” Bonnie cried, then, “Yes! Yes, I blame you.” She let out a deep anguished cry. “What kind of life was that for a child? We couldn't have friends over. We couldn't speak above a whisper. We couldn't play the radio loud or have pets or even fight. We had to be careful of everything we said or did in case it might upset you and you took a turn for the worse. The doctors kept urging you to get out of bed, to get out of the house. They told you you could lead a normal life, that you weren't an invalid who had to be confined to her bed….”

“Doctors,” her mother scoffed again. “What good are they?”

“Well, you should know. You had enough of them. You changed every time one told you something you didn't want to hear. You always found someone new who'd listen to your litany of aches and pains, someone who'd prescribe more pills. Did you ever think it might be the combination of all the pills you were taking that contributed to your stroke?”

“That's nonsense. You know as well as I do that I had a heart condition….”

“A heart murmur. Millions of people have heart murmurs. They lead full, productive lives.”

“I had allergies; I had migraines.”

“You had a husband and two children who needed you.”

“I tried my best.”

“You didn't try at all!” Bonnie closed her eyes, felt the room spin. “You abandoned us long before Daddy ever did.”

There was silence.

“It isn't the house I cared about,” Bonnie said finally,
corralling her thoughts into words, trying to make sense of all she was feeling. “I understood on a rational level why you left the house to Nick. I did. It's just that it made me feel so left out. So abandoned all over again.”

Bonnie stood up, walked to the dresser, stared back at her mother through the layers of glass. “When I found out I was pregnant, I couldn't wait to tell you. It had been a lousy few months. Nick had been arrested. You'd had your stroke. And I thought my news would save you.” Bonnie laughed. “After all those years, after everything that had happened, I still thought I had the power to cure you. And if I didn't, my child surely could. My baby would pull you through, give you the strength you needed, the will to live, the desire to see her first smile and take her first step. I convinced myself that you'd be there for my child in a way you'd never been there for me, that you'd be the perfect grandmother, knitting sweaters and baking apple pies.” Reluctantly, she pictured Adeline downstairs in the kitchen. “But you couldn't even do that, could you?” Bonnie pressed on. “You had to go and die before Amanda was born. You never even allowed me the pleasure of showing you my child.”

“You think I did that on purpose?” her mother asked.

“I don't
care
if you did it on purpose,” Bonnie told her. “I only care that you weren't there, that you've never been there. Not for Daddy, not for Nick, not for Amanda, and certainly not for me.”

Her mother folded her hands one inside the other, stared into her lap. “What's happened to you, Bonnie?” she asked bitterly. “You were always such a good girl.”

“I wasn't such a good girl!” Bonnie screamed, watching the mirrors shake, jarring loose past reflections—the anxious adolescent in her white dress, the worried teenager, the concerned young woman in her early twenties, the nervous bride-to-be, the agitated expectant mother—watching them cower, cover their ears. “Do you know how many times I wished you were dead?” Bonnie cried out. “Do you have any idea how many times I wished
your heart would simply give out?” she demanded, feeling her own heart rip, then tear, with the admission. “Do you know that as often as I prayed for you to get better, I prayed you'd go to sleep and never wake up? Oh God, I'm not a good girl. I'm not good at all.” Bonnie collapsed by the side of the bed. She lowered her head into her mother's lap and sobbed.

After several minutes, she felt her mother's hand on the back of her hair, her fingers stroking her neck. “I love you,” her mother whispered, her voice going faint.

“I love you more,” Bonnie cried softly.

“It's all right,” a voice was saying. “It's all right, Bonnie. Everything's going to be all right.”

Bonnie slowly lifted her head, saw Adeline standing beside her, her fingers gently stroking the back of her neck. Bonnie looked at the bed, felt the sky blue bedspread flat beneath her fingers. The bed was empty. Her mother was gone.

“Your father and I heard you crying,” Adeline said. “We were concerned.”

“I'm sorry,” Bonnie told her, wiping her eyes. “I didn't mean to worry you.”

“No, don't be sorry. It's all right to be sad. It's all right to cry.”

Bonnie nodded, forced herself to her feet. “I should go.”

“Do you have to?” Adeline asked. “Nick just called. I told him you were here. He said he'd be home in a few minutes.”

“I can't wait. I have to get back.”

“Your father and I would be delighted if you'd stay for dinner. You could call home, invite the whole family. It would be our pleasure….”

“Thank you, but no,” Bonnie said quickly. “Rod is out of town, and I haven't been feeling very well.”

“Another time then, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Bonnie repeated, taking one last look around the room before leaving the ghosts and shadows of the past behind.

H
e was waiting for her when she got home.

“Josh,” Bonnie acknowledged in grateful surprise, climbing out of her car, seeing him standing in her driveway, fighting the urge to rush into his arms.

“Car's working all right now, I see,” he said.

She checked her watch, more than a little embarrassed by how pleased she was to see him, hoping it wasn't obvious in her face. “What are you doing here?” she asked, noting it was almost five o'clock.

“I thought I'd drop by and see how you were doing, bring you some chicken soup.” He held up a large bottle of clear liquid.

Bonnie smoothed her short hair self-consciously and opened the front door, her wary eyes circling the floor, before motioning for him to follow her inside the house. “Hello?” she called, walking directly into the kitchen, taking the bottle of chicken soup from Josh's hands, placing it on the counter. “Anybody home? Lauren? Amanda?” Bonnie marched back into the front hall, rechecking her watch. “Sam?” Her eyes returned warily to the floor. L'il Abner? she mouthed silently. Where was everyone?

“They're at Diana's,” Josh said from somewhere behind her.

Bonnie spun around. Too fast. Her head kept spinning. “What?”

Josh held out a piece of white paper. “They left you a note on the kitchen table. Here.” He extended the piece of paper toward her. Bonnie reached for it, lost her balance, felt her body sway. In the next instant, she was in Josh's arms, the room dancing around her head.

“Let me get you some water,” Josh said, leading Bonnie back into the kitchen, propping her up in one of the kitchen chairs, keeping a watchful eye on her as he ran to the sink and poured her a glass of cold water.

“Haven't we done this before?” Bonnie asked.

Josh smiled, pressed the glass to her lips. “Are you all right? Should I call a doctor?”

Bonnie took a long sip. “I saw a doctor this morning. He gave me some pills.”

“Is it time to take one?”

Bonnie looked toward her watch, but she could no longer determine which hand was long and which hand was short. They blurred and intertwined, lost between numbers that said nothing to her at all. “Not for another hour,” Bonnie told him, remembering that it had been almost five o'clock just minutes ago. She took another sip of water. “I'll be okay. I think I just tried to do too much today.” She was exhausted, she realized, desperate to lie down. All that driving. All those memories. Confronting one's family of origin wasn't exactly a walk on the beach, she decided, thinking of Rod in Florida, wondering what his children were doing over at Diana's.

“What does the note say?” Bonnie asked.

“
Bonnie
,” Josh read. “
Went to Diana's to start papering her bathroom. Took Amanda with us. Back by six
. Signed
Sam and Lauren
.” He returned the paper to the table. “Can I fix you a cup of soup?”

Bonnie smiled. “Thanks. Soup sounds good.”

In the next second, he was at the counter emptying the contents of the bottle into a pot, stirring it gently as it heated.

“This is delicious,” Bonnie told him, moments later,
savoring the soothing liquid as it snaked its way down her throat.

“My mother's secret recipe.”

“Really?”

“No. My mother was a lousy cook. And I'm a lousy liar. I bought this at a small deli in Wellesley.”

“I'm a lousy liar too,” Bonnie told him, so pleased he was here. “Thank you for the soup. It was very kind of you to think about me.”

He smiled. “Anytime.”

“I think maybe I should lie down for a while before everyone gets back,” she said, finishing the last spoonful.

Josh helped her into the living room, watching as she lay down on the sofa. “What time does your husband get home?”

Bonnie drew her knees up to her chest, burrowed her head into the soft green pillow, closed her eyes. “He's away this week. At a convention in Miami.”

“Does he know you're this sick?”

“He'll be home soon.” Bonnie raised her chin just enough so that she could peek out from beneath barely lifted lashes without actually having to open her eyes. She saw Josh fold himself into one of the chairs across from the sofa. “You don't have to stay. I'll be okay.”

“I think I should wait until someone gets home. I don't think you should be alone,” he told her, his tone indicating further protest was useless.

Thank you, Bonnie said, although no words were spoken, and she was already drifting off to sleep.

 

“Mommy!” Amanda squealed, running toward her, just as Bonnie opened her eyes. “We've been papering. It was cool.”

Bonnie propped herself up on the sofa, bringing her feet to the floor, Amanda immediately jumping into her lap. “I can see you've been very busy.” Bonnie wiped some white paste from the child's cheek.

“It was fun. Sam said I'm a natural.” Amanda giggled.

“He did, did he?”

Amanda nodded proudly. “What's a natural?”

Bonnie laughed as Sam and Lauren entered the room. Both wore fashionably faded and torn jeans and old T-shirts, their hair tied behind their ears and dotted with white dust. Even the earring in Sam's nose was flecked with white. “Whose car is in the driveway?” Sam asked.

“That's mine,” Josh stated, coming into the room.

Where had he been? Bonnie wondered, then wondered why he was here at all. Had he really come just to see if she was all right?

“Hi, Mr. Freeman,” Sam said. “What are you doing here?”

“Slaving over a hot stove” came the immediate reply. “I thought I'd make you guys some dinner,” he explained. “I didn't think Bonnie would be up to it, and I make a mean hot dog.”

“Hot dogs?” Amanda clapped her hands with delight.

“And baked beans,” Josh added with a wink.

“You didn't have to do that,” Bonnie told him.

“Is it time for your pills yet?” he asked.

“What pills?” Lauren said.

“Bonnie was at the doctor's,” Josh explained. “He prescribed some antibiotics. I'll get them.” He returned to the kitchen before Bonnie could protest.

“What did the doctor say?” Lauren asked.

“Not much. He says it might be an inner ear infection.” She shrugged. “Or it might not.”

“We played dress-up at Diana's house,” Amanda announced.

“She got into Diana's closet,” Lauren said sheepishly. “I tried to stop her.”

“Diana has pretty things,” Amanda said.

“Yes,” Bonnie agreed. “But I don't think she'd appreciate you playing with them. I hope you put everything away exactly where you found it.”

Amanda pouted prettily, her lips arranging themselves into a large pucker that begged to be kissed.

“I helped her,” Lauren said.

The phone rang.

“Do you want me to answer that?” Josh Freeman called from the kitchen.

“Please.” Bonnie thought it was probably Rod and wondered what he'd make of the strange male voice answering his telephone.

“Who the hell is Josh Freeman?” Rod was asking seconds later, as Bonnie took the phone from Josh's hands, sitting down on a kitchen chair Josh pulled over for her.

“Sam's art teacher,” Bonnie whispered. “Remember? He was at Joan's funeral.”

“What's he doing there?”

“He came by to see how I was feeling. How's everything in Miami?” she asked, changing the subject, not really sure what Josh Freeman was still doing there.

“Miami is great. Everything's going even better than we hoped. The affiliates are crazy about Marla. She has them eating out of the palm of her hand.”

Josh extended his palm toward her. A single white tablet rested across his long and sturdy lifeline. Bonnie took the pill, popped it inside her mouth, and swallowed it with the glass of water that Josh held in his other hand.

“How are you feeling?” Rod asked, almost an afterthought.

“About the same. I went to a doctor. He prescribed some antibiotics.”

“What doctor?”

“Dr. Kline.”

“Who's he?”

“Someone Diana recommended,” Bonnie lied, thinking it easier than having to tell him about her visit to Dr. Greenspoon. Not that she planned on keeping it a secret. It was just too complicated to get into over the phone.

“Did you find the snake yet?”

Bonnie's eyes automatically shot to her feet. “Not yet.”

“Well, try not to worry about him. I think he's history.”

Bonnie nodded, watching Sam come into the room, grab a soft drink out of the fridge.

“Bonnie, are you there?”

“Yes, I'm sorry. I'll try not to worry.”

“Okay, look, I've got to run. Marla's arranged some sort of major meeting with one of the network honchos for seven o'clock, and I've got some notes to go over. I'll call you tomorrow. I miss you,” he added before hanging up.

“Tomorrow,” Bonnie repeated, returning the phone to its carriage as Josh Freeman brought a plate full of hot dogs to the kitchen table.

“Dinner's ready,” he announced as Sam, Lauren, and Amanda arranged themselves eagerly around the table. “Hot dogs for everyone.” He looked at Bonnie. “Chicken soup for you.”

 

The phone rang at precisely two twenty-three in the morning. Bonnie jumped up, arms lurching wildly in front of her, as if to protect herself from the sound. It took several seconds for her to understand what was happening, another few seconds to find the phone and bring it to her ear. “Hello?” she said breathlessly into the receiver.

Nothing.

“Hello? Damn it, who is this?”

Still nothing, then a strange click, then nothing again.

“Hello? Who is this? Is someone there?”

A dial tone was her only response. Bonnie slammed the phone into the receiver and burst into tears. The one good sleep she'd had in days, undisturbed by nausea or nightmares or wayward twitches, and it had been shattered. Maybe the antibiotics were helping after all, she thought, wiping away her tears and getting out of bed, flipping on the light, doing a quick check of the floor, the windowsill, the curtains.

She walked into the hall. She might as well make her
nightly rounds, she decided, eyes skirting the baseboards as she looked through the shadows into Sam's room, the snake's tank illuminated, the two white sacrificial rats curled into little balls on its gravel-strewn bottom. Snakes, and now rats. I can't believe this is my life, Bonnie thought, continuing down the hall, stopping in front of Amanda's open door, her heart sinking.

Hadn't she cautioned Amanda to keep the door to her room closed until they found L'il Abner? “Remember to close it again if you wake up in the middle of the night and have to go to the bathroom,” she'd warned. And here it was, wide open.

What could you do? Bonnie wondered, stepping inside her daughter's room and peering through the darkness. Amanda was a child, not even four years old. She couldn't be expected to worry about everything. That's what mothers were for.

Slowly, Bonnie's eyes adjusting to the dark, she approached Amanda's bed, hand resting on the large stuffed kangaroo as she listened to Amanda's steady breathing. Carefully, Bonnie switched on the Big Bird light beside the bed. The child stirred slightly, but didn't open her eyes. Bonnie took a quick glance around. There were bears; there were dogs; there were frogs. No snakes, Bonnie saw with relief, switching off the light and returning to the hall.

Lauren's door was closed. Bonnie pushed it slightly open and peeked inside, closing it again when she heard Lauren's delicate snore. Then she returned to her room and crawled back into bed, where she lay awake until morning.

 

Josh Freeman called her the following afternoon. “I'm on a break,” he told her. “I just phoned to see how you were doing.”

“Did you call me last night?” Bonnie asked immediately.

“Last night? When? You mean, after I left?”

“I mean last night at exactly twenty-three minutes after two.”

“Why on earth would I call you at almost two-thirty in the morning?”

“I'm sorry,” Bonnie apologized. “I'm not thinking very clearly. Of course it wasn't you.”

“Someone called you at two-thirty in the morning? What did they say?”

“They didn't say anything. They just waited a few minutes, then hung up.”

“Did you call the police?”

“What for? It's probably just some crank.”

“It might be a good idea to keep the police informed anyway,” he advised.

Bonnie nodded, but said nothing.

“How are you feeling?”

“Actually, I feel a little stronger today,” Bonnie reported from her bed. “The antibiotics seem to be helping a little.”

“Need some more chicken soup?”

“I think you brought me enough to last a week.”

“How about some company?”

“Why?” she asked, surprising them both with the question.

“Why?” he repeated.

She hesitated. “First, you wouldn't even talk to me,” she reminded him softly, thinking how much she'd like to see him. “Now you're bringing me chicken soup and cooking my kids dinner. What's up?”

There was a long pause. “I like you,” he answered simply. “And I sensed you could use a friend. I know I could.”

The doorbell rang.

“Someone's at my door,” she told him, grateful for the timely interruption. “I better see who it is.”

“I'll call you later, if that's all right.”

“Yes,” she said. “It's all right.”

The doorbell rang again as Bonnie reached the bottom
step. She gathered her housecoat tightly around her. “Just a second,” she called out, her legs wobbly from their sudden exertion. “Who is it?”

“Everybody's favorite jailbird,” came the reply.