The House on Olive Street (30 page)

“Was your sister equally outraged?” Sable asked him.

“My sister was
bored.
She was almost seventeen, going about with some long-haired mutt she’d met at school, more interested in clothes and parties and music than in the marriage of her parents. She wasn’t at all close to Father. At that point in her life, she wasn’t terribly close to our mother, either. She was close enough, though, to ask, ‘Is this all right with you, Mummy?’ To which Mother replied that it was, that we would all still see Father quite often and there was no real embarrassment in the fact that they’d grown apart.

“I told him I’d never forgive him if he went through with it, that he’d better drop this American tramp of his or he’d live to regret it. I think I was crying. Sobbing, perhaps. He came to my room later on that night and tried to reason with me. He was very kind about the whole thing, given the way I was carrying on. I threatened him and he consoled me. I delivered him ultimatums and he told me that one day I’d understand. I shouted that I hated him and he promised that he would see no less of me in his new circumstances.

“Of course, you know, he was killed on the train. The very next day. I buried my father when the last words between us were hateful.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Ceola told him. It was almost as though they had forgotten she was there, forgotten this story was about her daughter. “You were filled with anger, but your father understood and didn’t hold it against you. That’s a parent’s job, after all.”

“Perhaps, but it was quite a long time before I would see that. It was at
my
insistence, my outraged insistence, that no one was ever to speak of that conversation with Father. I wasn’t going to have that blight on our otherwise enviable family name when it wasn’t necessary. My
mother urged me to see things in a more adult way, to allow that people change and come to crossroads in their lives that are unexpected. Not vengeful or wrathful, but simply unexpected.
She,
it appeared, had no hard feelings whatsoever. In fact, she remarried within a year.”

“When did you come to forgive your father?” Elly asked.

“Over the years, as I lived and was educated and married myself, I slowly began to understand that what I’d been feeling, fearing, was my father was abandoning me. Of course, he wasn’t at all, but I never believed all that blather about seeing me as often. I was too young. And, of course, I was able to watch my mother blossom in her second marriage. She thrived on the attention of a man who loved her in a truly romantic way—a man who didn’t keep running off to take pictures. They were tremendous grandparents to my stepfather’s grandchildren and would have been to my own.

“Ten years later my mother died. She had a short, difficult, but noble fight with cancer. My stepfather, who is with us still and a very close part of our family, turned over to me some of my father’s personal effects that my mother had saved all those years. She saved them for a time I might be mature enough to see him as a
man,
not some icon. Among them were letters from my father’s lover, Gabrielle Marshall. There were pictures and some of the stories she’d published along with the most complete collection of my father’s photos that exist to this day.

“When I read the letters, I had to meet her. Her passion for my father, for his work, his values and his courage, was a thing of purity. I found myself wishing
that I’d managed a way to better appreciate all that he was, rather than wasting even a moment on any shortcoming I perceived. When she wrote to him, he came to life in my mind. When I saw the pictures of her, of him, of the two of them together, I could see why he loved her. They seemed to come to life with joy in those photos.

“But the letters were art. She was funny, warm, spontaneous. Sometimes she wrote of her love for him, sometimes she wrote furious epistles in which she maligned him for some misdeed he’d committed, most often the insensitivity of putting himself in mortal danger to snap a picture when the result might have been that she’d have to live on without him. She also wrote of daily events—her work, her children, her friends. Sometimes she used him as a sounding board for her dreams. Not just personal ambitions for herself, but rather some dream for the world, usually touched off by some heartbreaking foreign story she’d written.

“I had to know this woman,” Todd said. “I could already tell from her letters and articles why he was in love with her. But I had to know her for myself. At that time I was a twenty-eight-year-old man. A young solicitor, just starting out. My wife had given birth to our first child, a son—a son who I adored and who I hoped would love me through every dreadful mistake I would make in my life.”

“Gabby was then forty-five,” Elly calculated for them.

“Yes, that’s so. I struggled with letters, but hers were too intimidating in their greatness. I found I couldn’t write to her. I impetuously flew to California and went to her door. It was the end of May. As I pulled my rented coupe up to the curb, I saw a gathering of young people come bounding out of the house, jumping in cars,
shouting and laughing, and off they rode. When I went to the door, terrified to make this confrontation, you can’t imagine what I found. Or perhaps you can, having known her. This tiny woman in rolled-up jeans, cotton shirt, hair all askew, feet bare came growling to the door as if she resented the intrusion. She had a wet rag in her hand—obviously she’d been cleaning.

“I had been so concerned about myself and how she might respond to me that I hadn’t even thought of the impact my mere presence could have on her. The resemblance, you know. She stared at me in shock for a few moments, and when I said my name was Todd Shelby, she swooned.”

“Gabby never said a word,” Elly said. “I never knew Todd and Gabby had met. I am still amazed by that.”

“I can’t imagine why she didn’t tell you. I assure you, our meeting was very nice. I found Gabby in the midst of absolute chaos—her daughter was graduating from high school that evening, her son was due home from college that very afternoon, her ex-husband’s parents were coming to dinner that evening, and two days hence was her daughter’s eighteenth birthday. She was cooking and cleaning, and planned to have a huge weekend full of parties and guests. It didn’t look to me that she was going to make it. The place was a-tumble, actually. She was a mess. But she was indeed a lovely mess. Lovely. Had I not been mad in love with my own wife and new baby son, I’m afraid I might have fallen for her.

“Time seemed to stop for a couple of hours. With her house collapsing around us—food in preparation on the counter, electric sweeper standing ready on the rug—we sat on the divan together and talked. I wanted to know all about my father, the side of him she knew, and I wanted to tell her all about the fiasco of his confession
just hours before his death. I wanted her to know that it was I who’d insisted no one ever speak of his plans, else she might have been told about his talk with us. Else, she might have been consoled at the time of his death. We could have gone on for hours and hours, but it simply wasn’t possible.

“Gabby sent me on my way that day and told me to go back to London. She promised she would visit me there in the fall. And she told me I’d made her very, very happy. In her heart, she said, she had never really doubted John. He said his love for her would last forever. And indeed, it had.”

“I remember her visit to London,” Elly said. “I remember Sarah’s graduation and birthday. I was there for all the events. And I remember that Gabby was melancholy. Tearful. I thought it was because she was launching her baby into the world, for Gabby, then, would live as a woman alone for the first time in her life. I conceded that it would make anyone sentimental.”

“But I believe it was because, after all those years—ten years—she was finally vindicated,” Todd said. “My father had sworn his love for her and meant to fulfill his promises. But until I visited her that day, she was forever in doubt.”

“You say she never mentioned Todd’s visit, Elly?” Sable asked.

“Not once. Not even in passing. I’m not the kind of friend one talks to about romantic foibles or heartaches. Everyone, even Gabby, always considered me immune to love. But maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was something Gabby wanted all to herself. John had been dead for ten years, after all. She’d recovered from it. She didn’t pine after him day and night any longer.

“In my digging, I never ran across any letters from Todd because he’d never written any.”

“I was too intimidated by her wit and dash to write to Gabby, but she wrote to me. I have four years of letters—as artful and exciting as the ones she wrote my father. Only the romantic passion is missing, that’s all. She wrote me long stories about Father, about their travels and time together. I’ve made copies and brought them for you. You have my permission to publish them in any memoir you produce. There’s no longer any reason to keep John Shelby’s affair secret.”

“But what is equally important,” Elly said, “is our—Gabby’s—final chapter. I believe we found it in that photo of Gabby at the funeral…and the story we’ve heard from Todd. Clare and Brandt never stopped loving each other. And although it didn’t come quickly, Clare did eventually have that confirmed.

“We can wrap it up. The story is finished. And so is our duty.”

June 4—Two years later

D
espite all the best intentions, there were no reunions of four crazy women at a beach house in Carmel. It was not as though they didn’t meet here and there. Sable flew to Kansas City for Beth’s wedding in September, one year after Gabby’s house was closed. Beth and her new husband flew to Sacramento for Matt Vaughan’s wedding December of that same year. The following January, the women gathered in New York to toast the publication of
Perfect Light.
Of course, they talked all the time—local or long-distance. While the three locals in the Sacramento area didn’t meet for lunch, they dropped in on each other now and then. Their lives had gone off in strange and remarkable directions; they found, once they were resettled, that they could manage by just keeping up with each other. The bond was complete, and they didn’t need to fall back on the strength of that daily.

The closing of the house on Olive Street had been an affair of grand proportions. They packed the finished
manuscript off to Sable’s agent, Arnold Bynum. In addition to the finished, original novel, Beth had managed to retrieve the rights to seven previously published novels and all five non-fiction books to be held by the author’s estate. The women had begun to move their personal belongings out of the house as the closing date approached. Beth’s household goods were shipped to Kansas City to be kept in a storage facility until she was resettled. Sable’s stuff had been carted back to Hidden Valley by some of Jeff’s employees. Ben had helped Eleanor carry boxes and boxes of Gabby’s books and papers to add to the clutter of her packed little house. And Barbara Ann’s family couldn’t move her computer, books, clothes and odds and ends back to her sparkling home fast enough.

So, the five of them, mostly moved out except for overnight items, had thrown a bash for all the people who were a part of their permanent lives. The Vaughan men came, some bringing girlfriends. Sarah, Lindsey, and even Justin arrived. David and Ed were there. Ben, of course. Jeff. And even Dr. Don. They ate mounds of food, told stories of the summer, drank wine and beer, and laughed so hard and so deeply that they cried. Things happened that night that showed how much a little trauma, time and healing can change the face of the world. Justin left early, off to play with his pals. That was the last time he ever walked out on Sarah and the baby and was allowed to walk back into their lives. Dr. Don dropped his arm around Ed’s shoulders and had a long conversation with him about David’s undeniable courage in his life and his field of medicine. David was the one to take Ceola to the airport early Sunday morning. And Ben and Elly were caught smooching.

The next day was a little tougher. Ceola was gone, the
women had packed up the last of their belongings and the house was straightened up. It was to go on the market; it would be shown with the furniture still in place. The bags were loaded into cars and the women stood at the curb to have a good, final view.

“This time we really do have to say goodbye,” Barbara Ann said.

“To the house, Barbara Ann. Not to each other.”

“Some of us do,” said Beth, who was being taken to the airport by Sable.

“It’s for the best,” Elly said. “We’ve dragged this out long enough. Anything yet to be worked out in our personal lives, we’re going to have to do alone. Or we’ll cripple each other with dependence. Now, let’s make it quick. I hate sentimental shit.”

They hugged, wiped away tears, waved from cars, and drove away. But it was Elly who sat in front of the house for a long time, looking at it. Longing for it. “Goddammit,” she said aloud. “I’m not sure I was done.”

Done or not, Eleanor faced her obligations bravely. She met Ben’s family; one at a time, slowly, and then en masse. This was the day they married. Saturday, June fourth. The wedding was held at Ben’s farmhouse, outdoors, where the flowers and vines and greenery had been decorated with trellises, ribbons and bows. All of Ben’s family, friends and neighbors were there, of course. And all of Ben’s grandchildren, especially the smaller ones, seemed to want to hang on Elly.

Sable was the maid of honor—the only attendant for Elly. She had tried, desperately, to dress Elly in some chic, designer wedding dress, but Elly wouldn’t have it. She purchased a fancy dress from a department store—what to her was a fancy dress—and was done with it. “What’s the difference?” she asked testily. “Ben’s
probably going to wear a lavender leisure suit. Haven’t you figured out that it wasn’t fashion that brought us together?” Sable also tried to turn Elly’s wedding into something a little more traditional—keep the bride in hiding until the wedding march is played, throw rice, throw the bouquet, take a long honeymoon, et cetera. “Nonsense,” Eleanor said. “We’re going to visit and enjoy ourselves, welcome our guests and friends, take a few minutes to tie the knot, and then we’ll eat and party. That’s it. Don’t mess with it, Sable, or you’ll irritate me.”

“What about your honeymoon?”

“What honeymoon? There are people coming from out of town. I’m not going anywhere. Why should I miss all the fun for a silly honeymoon?”

What Elly wanted was to have the caterers serving drinks and hors d’oeurvres and have music playing while the guests arrived and had some time to socialize. Then she would have this little ceremony, which would be short and to the point. They would have a buffet dinner and enjoy the setting sun with friends and family. It would not be formal and it would not be rigidly scheduled as Sable would have planned.

It was just as well that Elly had put her foot down because it was Sable who lost all composure when Beth arrived. When she came around the flagstone walk into the backyard with her new husband, Sable dropped her wineglass and screamed. She jumped up and down, pointed and flung her arms around. Elly came running from the house and Barbara Ann flew from the other side of the lawn party to see what was happening. There stood Beth with the biggest pregnant stomach. Grinning.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“How could you have kept it secret?”

“When did this happen?”

Beth laughed at them, clutching her husband’s hand and leaning against him. She rubbed her belly fondly, proudly. “At first I kept quiet because I wanted to get past the danger zone. I didn’t tell anyone but Alex for three months. And then I kept quiet because I knew I’d be seeing you here and I wanted to surprise you. And it happened about eight months ago.”

“In the usual fashion,” Alex added, kissing her cheek.

“This is unbelievable!” Barbara Ann proclaimed.

“No, this is natural. Unbelievable is if David and Ed make some announcement today.”

“Oh, where are they? I want Alex to meet them!”

“Right over there with Sarah. Lindsey’s trying to walk.” Though she was two and a half, she was naturally a little behind, but still the most precious, good-natured baby on earth. “And go meet Sarah’s new guy. She met him at school. He’s a law student.”

“New guy? Is it serious?”

“It’s always serious, Beth. You should know that.”

“Gamma. Gamma,” a little voice was saying. They all looked down to see a tiny girl with golden ringlets pulling on Elly’s dress.

“What is it, dolly?” Elly cooed, bending and scooping up the little girl.

“I want some juice, Gamma.”

“Well, of course you can have some juice. Let’s go get you some.” She turned away from her friends and carried the little cherub toward the bartender.

“Now
that
is unbelievable,” Sable said.

“Gee, I thought Eleanor only slapped small children.”

“Oh, she’s already a wonderful grandmother,” Ben said, elbowing into their little circle. He was wearing an old, beige, double-knit suit and the most awful bow tie.
“Look at you,” he said to Beth, kissing her cheek. “Is it only one, Beth?”

“It’s a girl. Mama started with a girl. I’m thinking of having eight. I’ll have to hurry.”

“I’m thinking of having two,” Alex said, squeezing her shoulders.

“Maybe we’ll compromise and have seven, but it’s really better if you stick to even numbers.”

“I’d better check on my girls,” Sable said suddenly. “I hope no one’s stealing the knickknacks or smoking pot behind the barn.”

“You brought the girls?” Barbara Ann asked.

“Just three of them. I have six living with me now. Two are delightful, two are sneaky and two are absolutely incorrigible. I adore them. They’re awesome. Better warn your boys. They all have records. Want to meet them?”

“Sure. How’d you get them to come?”

“A little pop psychology. The three who were in the most trouble last week had to come with me to the wedding. It was marvelous. They all tried really hard. I think Dorothy got the worst end of the deal. She’s armed and watching the three who were left at home.”

“What about Jeff? Is Jeff here?”

“Last I saw, he was talking to Mike.”

“When are you two going to make it legal?” Beth asked.

“Oh darling, wedded bliss isn’t for everyone. Jeff and I work so well together as we are, we kind of hate to mess with it. Besides, I’m too busy to break in a new husband. I’ve got to go see about those girls. Come on, Barbara.”

Elly and Ben were wed, no one objected at the crucial moment, and after the wedding toasts were made, Elly
stood to make her own. “I have some friends here I’d like to thank,” she said. “Most of you are very familiar with the story about how a few of us got together and weeded through our friend Gabby’s office, putting together her final project for publication,
Perfect Light,
which is now enjoying its fourteenth week on the coveted
New York Times
bestseller list.” There were cheers and whistles. “That was quite an ordeal, that project. It was meant to be sorting and filing—a couple of weeks’ worth of work. It ended up being a full summer of four crazy women trying to get their lives and their work in some sort of order. I guess we were really five—we had Ceola with us, too. Alas, she isn’t with us anymore. She was buried in her purple peignoir with her pistol at her side. Damn, I find I miss her helplessly. Now, I never thought I’d say
that.
” Elly paused while people laughed, especially those who knew Ceola personally. “But the other crazy women are here. Sable, Beth—she’s the one who’s about to give birth any second—and Barbara Ann. You were all a lot of trouble,” she said, and she was booed from some quarters. “You were impossible at times. I felt like a damn housemother. But something happened to me in that house that summer, something I could not have planned nor willed, something for which I owe you three unstable broads a debt of gratitude till the day I die. You forced me to learn how little I enjoy being alone and allowed me to open myself up to my wonderful Ben and his marvelous family. I thank you, my friends. And I toast you. To your health!”

“And yours,” the gathering said, raising glasses high and wiping tears off their cheeks.

Late in the day, when the sun was setting and stomachs were full, there were four women gathered in a small clearing on the far side of the lawn. Alone. Beth
sat on a tree stump, occasionally massaging her round belly. Eleanor sat on a lawn chair, Barbara Ann stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders now and then, and Sable sat cross-legged on the grass.

“Beth, is Alex as sweet and kind as he seems?” Barbara Ann wanted to know.

“Worse. I think he lets me walk all over him. I have to stop myself and remember, sometimes, that Alex has never made a move that indicates he doesn’t treasure me. I think the shadow of an abusive husband is something you struggle with for long after he’s gone.”

“He’s adorable,” Sable said.

“Isn’t he? I love that bald head. I never realized how sexy I found baldness until I met Alex.”

“Is he all your mother dreamed of? Is he at least Catholic?”

Beth giggled suddenly. She covered her mouth with a hand and her beautiful eyes were alive with mischief. “He used to be a priest.”

“What!?”

“No way.”

“How on earth…?”

“My brother John introduced us. Alex had just left the priesthood, and John had been struggling with that decision for such a long time…. I guess John had been talking to Alex about it a lot and they became good friends. John did quit, you know. Right after he married us. And you know what? Mama didn’t die. But I think she’s nearly worn out her beads. Since I’ve been home I’ve learned that my family is pretty normal, after all. They’re wonderful, all of them, but they have the same problems in life that everyone else has. They’re just people—not trophies. Sable, I’m glad you pushed me so hard. When I think that I could still be in Sacramento, ducking Jack’s punches…”

“You wouldn’t be,” Sable said. “And besides, it was all of us. Not just me.”

“It was mostly you,” Barbara Ann agreed. “And it was you who took the final punch.”

“I hope that’s my last,” Sable said. “But with these hoodlums I consort with now, one never knows….”

“How’s it going with all that?” Elly asked.

“Fabulous. We have a bona fide foundation now. We’re helping girls get from eighteen years old to adulthood, whatever age that is. When the foster care system dumps them on the street, penniless, at the age of eighteen, we pick them up. We make sure they have family and support that’s both financial and emotional. We’ve got some going to school, which is something that only happened in rare cases before. We look for these girls when they’re about sixteen so they can finish high school without the anxiety that they’re going to be dumped by the state the minute they hit that magic number.

“All those dinner parties and trips and stuff that I did—it all paid off. I’ve gotten money out of every celebrity I’ve ever met. We’re only handling about forty girls right now, but next year we’ll take on a hundred. We’ll grow. We’re going to do a lot of good work.”

“What about the ones living with you?”

“Special projects. Lost causes.”

“You don’t really expect to save them all by giving them quarters in that fancy white house of yours, do you?”

“Oh, you miss the point. I’m not going to save anyone. No matter how many advantages you throw at someone like that, they can’t see it. They’re still worthless sluts, remember? They have to come a long way to get over that mind-set. In other words,
I’m
not going to
save anyone at all. They have to save themselves. It’s up to them. I’m just a conduit. And besides, it’s not very white anymore. Poor Dorothy.”