Pickin Clover (3 page)

“That’s striking on you, Mrs. Forsythe. I knew it was you as soon as I saw it. You’ve gotta be really slim to wear that cut, and the color’s great with your hair. I love it short, by the way.”

“Thanks, Dana. It’s a good fit, isn’t it?” Polly stroked a hand down the aubergine silk vest, turning in front of the three-way mirror to check the back view. The bias-cut skirt clung to her hips and thighs, then flared provocatively to mid calf length. The vest was good even with the simple navy T-shirt she had on; buttoned up, the vest could go it alone for evening wear. And it would work with other things in her wardrobe, she assured herself. Which was a ridiculous rationalization, because she had so many clothes that inevitably something was bound to go with something else. She glanced at the tag, raised her eyebrows and whistled.

“It’s pricey, but it’s a designer label,” Dana said. “The quality’s there, full lining, finest silk.”

“What the heck, I’ll take it.” Polly went into the dressing room and slipped off the outfit, then handed it over the top of the door along with her charge card. “Do this for me while I change, will you, Dana? I’m late, I’m meeting my sister for lunch. It’s her birthday.”

She quickly wriggled into her slim paisley skirt and matching jacket, then settled the gold chains she’d looped around her neck and ran restless fingers through her wheat-colored hair, encouraging it to stand on end just the way Louie had when he cut it yesterday afternoon.

She leaned in close to the mirror and applied color the shade of ripe strawberries to her full mouth, then fumbled in her bag for the amber shadow that matched her eyes. She brushed some on, found her small round sunglasses in her purse and put them on, then burst out of the change cubicle.

Dana already had Polly’s purchases folded in tissue inside one of Bramble’s distinctive black shopping bags.

Polly scribbled her signature on the charge-card receipt without even looking at the total, waved a cheery goodbye and hurried out to her car. She and Norah hardly ever met for lunch, and now she was going to be at least fifteen minutes late, she realized, squealing the tires as she pulled into traffic.

She knew Norah was always ten minutes early, which drove Polly nuts. It made her feel inadequate.

Why did so many things make her feel inadequate lately? Or was it just one big thing—her marriage—that made her feel that way? She shoved the thought out of her head and concentrated on driving. There was a parking space right in front of the cafe. She breathed a prayer of thankfulness and wheeled into it.

After grabbing the present from the seat beside her, she shoved change into the meter, then sprinted into the restaurant, deliberately ignoring the sign that indicated the parking spot had a thirty-minute limit.

She saw Norah right away, in a long, loose, printed beige dress that didn’t do a thing for her. How could her sister have been born without any sense of style? Polly wondered in despair. Norah was sitting at one of the wrought-iron tables in the garden area under the skylight, sipping iced tea.

Polly plunked herself on the empty chair across from her, blew out a huge breath and handed over the birthday gift. “Sorry I’m late. Happy thirty-fourth, baby sister.”

Norah smiled the hesitant one-sided smile that was one of her greatest charms. She stroked the small box with a forefinger. “Look at this wrapping paper. I hate to even open it it’s so wonderful.”

Polly grinned with pleasure. She’d spent hours the night before designing the wrapping paper and the card, painting tiny roses all over crumpled brown paper, figuring out a card that was meaningful.

Norah carefully undid the card from the intricately knotted twine and slid it out of its envelope.

Polly had found a childhood picture of the two of them and glued it onto a folded piece of rag paper. Polly was about eight, Norah six. They were sitting on the steps of their parents’ house, squinting into the sun, arms wound tightly around each other, knees bare and scabby.

Their mother had taken the picture. Taking pictures had been Isabelle’s hobby. She must have told them to smile, because they both had huge phony grins on their faces. Norah was missing two top teeth right in the front. Inside the card Polly had printed: “With or without teeth, you’ll always be the sister of my heart. Happy birthday, dear Norah.”

Norah’s hazel eyes filled with tears, and she gave Polly a quavery grin. “Thanks so much, Pol. Your cards always make me cry. How can you figure out exactly the right thing to say?” She unwrapped the gift, then folded the paper into a meticulous, tidy square before she took the lid off the small jewelry box.

Norah’s exclamation of shocked delight was exactly what Polly had hoped for. She watched as her sister lifted the antique oversize gold watch on its long, heavy chain out of the nest of cotton wool. The intricately scrolled case glowed in the muted sunlight that poured through the skylight above them.

“Oh, this is too much. Oh, Polly, it’s exquisite. But it must have cost the earth.”

“Try it on.” Polly bounded to her feet took the watch and slipped it over Norah’s dark, silky head, settling it on the front of her nondescript dress. The watch made a statement, just as Polly had known it would.

Norah was tall, five-seven to Polly’s five-four, and her height meant she could wear such an important piece.

“Oh, Polly.” Norah’s eyes were troubled. “It’s far too expensive. You can’t spend this kind of money on me.”

“Phooey. It’s perfect on you. I saw it and just knew you had to have it. Pretend it’s a family heirloom.”

“That’s a whopping big pretend. Our family runs more to plastic than gold.” Norah cradled the watch in her hand. “I’m very grateful, don’t think that I’m not, but I still think it cost way too much.”

“Stop worrying and just enjoy, okay?” The waiter appeared, and Polly grabbed the menu and studied it, then made an instant decision. “Cauliflower soup and a vegetarian bagel on sesame, loaded.”

Norah took much longer, asking questions about the daily soup and the types of salad dressing before she finally ordered. Then, still cradling the watch in her palm, she tipped her head to one side, eyeing Polly. “When did you get your hair cut?”

“Yesterday afternoon. I got tired of it long. You like?”

Norah considered and then nodded. “You got it streaked, too, right? I definitely like it, but I thought you said once that Michael liked your hair long.”

Polly felt a stab of irritation. It was hard to tell anymore what Michael liked, and she didn’t appreciate Norah’s reminding her of it She waved her hand airily. “Nothing like a change. It’s a surprise. He hasn’t seen it yet. He’s in Seattle at some medical conference.”

“How come you didn’t go along? I thought you loved Seattle.”

Polly shrugged. “I didn’t feel like it this time.” And Michael hadn’t asked her. She really didn’t want to talk about Michael right now. “Why don’t you get your hair cut, too, Norah? This new guy I found is a genius. His name’s Louie. He’s in a salon on Granville. You could get it lightened a couple of shades. I bet it’d turn a rich oak color.”

She squinted at Norah. If anyone was guessing, they’d probably assume Norah was the older sister, with her straight, brown, no-nonsense, shoulder-length bob and her frumpy dress. Although the watch really helped. No doubt about it.

“I like my hair this way. It’s easy to pin up into a bun for work, and I don’t have to fuss about getting it cut all the time.”

Polly had had enough similar conversations to know that Norah wouldn’t change her mind, so she gave up.

“How’s work going? Lotsa babies?” Norah was an obstetrical nurse at St. Joe’s. She’d never married, and work was her whole life, as far as Polly could figure.

“An avalanche of them. Must be the full moon. Yesterday we delivered the cutest twins you ever saw, a boy and a girl, both with curly red hair. The parents already have four other kids and the dad’s out of a job, so this is gonna be a real stretch for them. The pregnancy was an accident.” Norah rolled her eyes. “Listen to the moms and it sounds like three out of every five kids are unplanned. Makes you wonder what people are thinking about. Not birth control, that’s for sure.”

Polly nodded and smiled and did her best to look interested, while inside her heart kicked painfully against her ribs just as the child she longed to carry would have, the child Michael refused to let her conceive, the child who would fill the aching void Susannah had left behind.

CHAPTER TWO

Polly often imagined the child she would have. It would be round-cheeked and beautiful. Its downy head would nuzzle her breast as a rosebud mouth closed greedily around her nipple. One tiny hand would curl around her finger, relaxing as her milk soothed the hunger pangs.

She should trick him, get pregnant without his consent, sabotage the condoms, the spermicidal cream. It wasn’t the first time she’d considered it. After all, she’d tell him, accidents happened all the time, just ask Norah.

Except she couldn’t. It would be a betrayal of everything in their marriage. Not that Michael didn’t want another child; she knew that. It was because of that first miscarriage; and then Susannah’s birth had been difficult, so difficult he wouldn’t let her try again. But it was her body, damn it. It was her life. She’d screamed those very facts at him only days ago.

He’d said, in that quiet, deliberate doctor tone that drove her nutty, that although her body was hers, he refused to risk her life with his child.

“Cauliflower soup? And the Caesar for you, ma’am. Enjoy.” The waiter placed their food on the table, and Polly concentrated on it, willing herself to taste, to swallow, to comment on how good everything was, even though she wasn’t hungry in the slightest.

“You talked to Mom recently?” Norah buttered a hot roll.

Polly shook her head. Here was still another subject she’d rather not get into. “Not since that last argument I had with her over the yard. You?”

Norah nodded. “She called this morning. Wants me to go over there for supper tonight to celebrate my birthday. I thought maybe she’d invited you and Michael.”

“Nope. I guess she’s still mad at me for telling her the place looks like the city dump.”

“It does, but you were kind of hard on her.”

Norah tore pieces off the roll and lined them up in a row on her plate. “Losing your temper doesn’t get you anywhere with Mom, you should know that by now. It just makes her mad, and then she gets more stubborn than ever.”

Polly put her spoon down and gave her sister a look. “Me, hard on her? Try that the other way around. That woman doesn’t give a moment’s thought to anyone but herself. She never did. And you can’t deny that yard of hers is a pigsty, to say nothing of the house. Have you gone into her bedroom lately?” Polly shuddered. “Cartons piled halfway to the ceiling, clothes everywhere. And the basement, vegetables going rotten, old furniture, all those boxes of old magazines. God. All I was doing was suggesting she let us hire somebody to clean it up. Is that so bad?”

“I know. I know what mom’s like. Let’s not argue about it, okay?” Norah gave Polly a placating smile. “I just go insane sometimes and actually think we could all get together and have a nice meal, the way normal families do.”

Polly shook her head. “Not in this lifetime. Not with our mother. She’s anything but normal.”

“And what’s normal anyway, right?” Norah couldn’t stand discord; Polly knew that.

“Right.” Polly relented. After all, it was her sister’s birthday. They shouldn’t rehash old grievances over a celebratory lunch. “Certainly nobody I know even comes close.” But even as she tossed off the flippant words, Polly knew they weren’t true.

At dusk, after the stores had closed and there was nothing to do and nowhere to go but home, she searched for normal families as she drove slowly down quiet streets, up back alleys.

In summer they were gathered around barbecues, swimming in backyard pools, tossing balls in parks, walking aimlessly with a dog on a leash, a baby in a backpack, an older kid on a tricycle. In winter they sat around a fireplace, making popcorn, watching rented videos.

They were everywhere—mothers, fathers, children, happy families doing everyday things. And the worst of all for Polly was that she remembered exactly how it felt to have a normal family of her own.

Stay focused on the present. Wasn’t that what Frannie had always recommended? Polly faked a grin and said, “So what’s happening on the relationship front, Sis? Any action I should know about?”

Norah smiled and shook her head. “None. I haven’t been out on a date in months.”

Polly felt familiar irritation flare at Norah’s passiveness. If it were her, if she were single and lonely, as she suspected Norah was, she’d darned well find a way to meet someone. Vancouver was a big city; there had to be attractive, available men out there.

“No cute single guys at the hospital?” It seemed to Polly a logical place for meeting men.

“Obstetrics isn’t exactly the best place to meet single guys. The patients are all female, remember,” Norah pointed out with a grimace. “And besides, it’s not very romantic to date someone who spends his entire working life examining vaginas. Who wants to date someone who knows more about your private parts than you do yourself?”

Polly had to laugh. Norah could be funny sometimes. “Maybe you oughta try a younger version of those dances Mom goes to. She never seems to have any shortage of guys hanging around.” Polly’s tone was acerbic.