The Last Original Wife (22 page)

“Look, we can have this discussion now or later. You choose. But at some point before I go back to Charleston, we're going to talk about what you're doing with your life, son.”

“I think this is my cue to put Holly in the bathtub,” Charlotte said.

“Yes, and then you can avoid the dishes,” I said.

“Mom! Why would you say something like that?” Charlotte said.

“When's the last time you ever washed a dish when I was in this house? Or run a load of laundry?”

“I'll be back,” Charlotte said and got up. “Come on, Holly.”

Holly licked her fingers and wiped her mouth on her napkin.

“What do you say to Gammy, Holly?”

“Thanks for the cake?” she said.

“Go get your bath like a good girl,” I said.

“In Tibet they only bathe once a year,” Bertie said. “The air's so thin you can't smell anything like body odor.”

“That's what you think,” I said. He was stoking the coals of my furnace.

There was a long pause, and then he said, “You've had it with us, haven't you?”

“Yes, in a way, and in a way, no. You're in the middle of an MBA program, which we're paying for, and you drop out and head out to the other side of the world without a penny to your name. Then you call your father for money at least once a month because you can't earn your own way? You come home filthy dirty from head to toe and smelling like hell. Am I supposed to be thrilled to see you like this?”

“Wow.”

“Wow, you say? Molly Stovall is marrying a brilliant doctor. My daughter? Only wants to go out with her friends to bars and drink wine. Can't sell one house. Can't support her child. Neither one of you seem to be able to pick up after yourselves. I own the bragging rights on my two kids, and do they care about pleasing their parents? I don't think so.”

“Chill, Mom! You shouldn't take this stuff so personally.”

Now I was pissed.

“Chill? You tell your mother
to chill
? You've got some nerve, young man! I want you to remember this conversation when I'm dead and gone.
Where is your pride?
Why don't you want to stand on your own two feet? God forgive me, but you are as
lazy
as the day is long.”

“Sorry.”

“And I shouldn't take your failure to join the human race as an adult
personally
? Let me tell you something, Wesley Albert Carter V, go look in the mirror and take a good whiff! You smell like a pack of goats!”

“For real?”

“Yes, you really do. You look like a goatherder or a homeless person. Every other child on this whole blooming earth in every single culture wants to make their parents proud except mine. Shame on you both!”

“Wow,” he said. “This is heavy.”

“Mom? What's going on? Holly wants to say good night.”

Charlotte was standing in the doorway. I didn't know how much she had heard, and I didn't much care.

“Fine,” I said and passed her on the way to Charlotte's old bedroom. I said to Bertie, “Talk to your sister.” I couldn't remember the last time I'd raised my voice to them. I probably scared them half to death. So what?

“She's totally pissed,” I heard Bertie say.

It took a little effort to calm myself, but by the time I reached Holly's room, my breathing was normal again.

I pushed open the door that was left ajar and there was my little Holly in her summer nightgown with the unicorn on the front. She was playing possum, and for a fleeting moment I remembered Charlotte when she'd been this young and innocent.

“Hey, sweetie!” I said, using that bedtime voice that's louder than a whisper, the one reserved for putting children to bed. “I'm just coming to tell you I love you and to have sweet dreams!”

I sat down beside her and she rolled over and opened her enormous blue eyes.

“Gammy?”

“What baby?”

“Know what I want to be when I grow up?”

“A ballerina?”

“Nope. I want to be a Gammy like you who takes care of everybody.”

“Oh, sweetheart!” I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You go to sleep now, okay?”

“You smell so good, like flowers. Not like Mommy. She smells like the stuff she puts on my boo-boos.”

Alcohol. I had now reached the absolute limit of what I would tolerate silently.

“Good night, sweetie, don't let the bedbugs bite!”

“Bugs?” She yawned widely, her little head probably already filled with lovely little girl dreams that waited.

“Just an old saying,” I said and pulled the sheet over her shoulders.

I returned to the kitchen, and with every step I took I knew my sharp-tongued daughter was waiting with some sassy retort. I was wrong. I found her there in tears, Bertie holding her hands, consoling her. The dirty dishes were still on the table. They were sharing a bottle of wine.

“Why are you so mean?” she said.

“I am not mean. Almost thirty years I gave this family and
this
is what I get in return? I walked in here to a filthy house and a veritable mountain of dirty laundry? All of it was just waiting for me because my children are too lazy to lift a finger? It's a disgrace!”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“No. Your little girl says you stink from alcohol. How does that make
you
feel because
I
surely don't like hearing it! I'm going to check on your father, and I'll be back later. Put the wine away, wash the dishes, take out the garbage, and clean up this kitchen. Both of you! Start acting like adults! Don't wait up. Shame on you both.”

I left them there, stunned. I'd always made excuses for them because Wes screamed and yelled enough for both of us and, frankly, I didn't like confrontations. But the time was long overdue that they heard it from me too. Maybe they thought they could still be children themselves until someone, me, told them their behavior was beyond absurd.

I picked up a box of chocolates in the lobby of the hospital and delivered them to the nurses' station on Wes's floor. You could never be too nice to the nurses.

“Hi, this is for y'all so in case my husband snores too loud tonight y'all won't suffocate him?”

The head nurse on duty took the box and said, “Well, thank you! Who's your husband?”

“Wesley Carter. Room 129?”

“Oh, that man? He's sleeping like a little lamb,” the nurse said and turned to the others. “Y'all want a chocolate-covered caramel?”

“Just keep an eye on him for me tonight, please?” I said.

They became as one voice, a Greek chorus of comedy and appetite.

“You know it, shugah! Come in here bringing candy? We gonna take extraspecial care of Mr. Carter! Isn't that right, ladies?”

“Uh-huh. I'm gonna watch him close!”

“Me too! Is that a chocolate-covered cherry?”

“Get your hands off that nougat! That's mine!”

There was a flurry of thanks and assurances. I smiled and went to find Wesley.

True to their description, Wesley was asleep, snoring softly and looking so calm and peaceful, if I hadn't known it was him by his pajamas, I might have thought someone switched bodies. I pulled a chair right up to the side of his bed and held his hand in mine. I was leaving him and without actually saying it, we all knew it. We all knew it.

CHAPTER 18

Wes the Patient

L
es drove me home. The minute I opened the door from the garage I could sense the difference. The house smelled good. Les had been cooking. The kitchen counters didn't have crumbs all over them, and the garbage can wasn't overflowing. There were even some flowers on the table—probably from the grocery store—a nice touch. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath.

“What are you making?” I said.

“Lasagna,” she said.

“That's my favorite,” I said.

“I know. And I'm making beef stew and chicken soup.”

“We don't need all that food,” I said. What I should have said was
thanks,
but it just rolled off my tongue. It was probably the medication mixing up my manners.

“I'm making it to freeze.”

“Oh,” I said and realized she meant that she was cooking for us so we'd have something decent to eat when she left.

She still intended to leave. What could I do to make her stay? It was so damn nice to have her here. All at once I was bone tired and sore as hell.

“If you can just help me upstairs, I think I'm gonna take a nap,” I said.

Les said, “Bertie? Help me, son.”

“What?” Bertie looked up from the den where he was watching the Nature Channel or something. “Oh, yeah, sure. Come on, Dad. Easy there.”

“Are Charlotte and Holly here?” I asked Bertie.

“Birthday party for some kid,” Bertie said. “Back by five.”

So they couldn't be here when I came home from the hospital.

“Seems like they should have been here,” I said.

“Wes? You were barely gone for twenty-four hours,” Les said, reading my mind.

“Whatever,” I said.

I limped up the steps, leaning on Bertie and pulling on the rail. Then when I pushed open the door to my bedroom, I was pleasantly surprised. Everything was as clean as a whistle and a fresh pair of pajamas was laying on the side of the bed. I undid my belt and zipper and let my pants slide to the floor. Then I sat on the side of the bed, kicked off my loafers, and wiggled my legs free.

Les said, “Here, I'll get that.”

“Thanks,” I said.

She picked up my trousers and folded them lengthwise along the crease just as she'd done for the past thirty years. Then she took my loafers to the closet, and I'd bet every last dollar to my name that she put the shoe trees in them before she put them back in their place. My closet was kind of a mess because since she'd been gone I just wasn't as diligent about those things.

With her help, I eased myself under the covers and drifted off to sleep, but it wasn't really sleep. I could hear them talking, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. They closed the door and I thought they were still in the room but they weren't. The next thing I knew it was after five and I had slept away the entire afternoon. It was my cell phone that woke me up. I reached over and looked at the caller ID. It was Paolo. I answered it.

“I'm still alive,” I said and chuckled.

“This is good news. So how'd it go?”

“I don't know. Okay, I guess. I had this Oriental surgeon, you know. Harold got him for me.”

“I'm pretty sure they say
Asian
now but who cares? In general, they're smarter than everyone else anyway.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Walk in the park.”

“For him maybe. You got any pain?”

“Not too bad. Not great but not impossible to deal with. Okay, it hurts like hell.”

“Aw, man. Can I do anything for you? You want gelato?”

“Gelato? You Italians and your gelato. I love it. No, I think I need a martini, but I can't drink any booze with the medicine.”

“Now
that's
terrible! What did they give you?”

“Hell, I don't know. Some antibiotic. Something else for pain that's blocking the road in between me and the vodka. So what's up with you? Heard from Harold?”

“Yeah. He's good. Anyway, so when can we hit the links?”

“A week. Maybe ten days. I'll get the green light from this Dr. Chen and let you know.”

“Sounds good. So, no chemo or radiation?”

“Nope. Not so far.”

“I'll call you tomorrow.”

“Paolo?”

“What?”

“Coffee gelato is my favorite.”

“You asshole.”

It was good to hear from him. It was good to be alive! I knew it didn't pay to fool around with young girls like Cornelia and Lisette. Well, fool around maybe, but marry? Not in a million years! Here I was in my bed and my sheets smelled so good, and that never would've happened if Les was thirty. The best news of all? I wasn't going to die. Not yet anyway.

Les opened the door.

“I thought I heard you talking,” she said.

“Yeah, Paolo called. You know, to see how I was feeling. Can you help me up? I want to go to the bathroom.”

“Let me call Bertie. He's much stronger than I am.
Bertie!
”

“I'm so glad you're here, Les. You just don't know.”

“Thanks,” Les said kindly. “So how are you feeling? It's time for your pills.”

“I'll take the antibiotic, but I don't want that other pill. Makes me too groggy.”

“The doctor actually said you could try Motrin if this other pill made you itchy or anything like that.”

A martini!

“We got any Motrin?”

Bertie came in.

“Ready, Dad?”

“Not quite.” I rolled over on my side and propped myself up on one elbow. Slowly, I pushed myself up into a sitting position, but when I tried to stand, it pulled so badly in my groin that I thought I might topple over. Bertie grabbed me under the arms. “Maybe I'll take that pain pill.”

“Yeah, I'd think you'd want them for the first couple of days,” Les said. “After that Motrin might do the trick. The whole story with pain management is to stay ahead of the pain.”

“I guess I'm stiff from lying down.”

“Stitches pull too.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I want to go downstairs.”

“For what?” Les said.

“To sit in my recliner and watch the Golf Channel.”

“It's easier to bring a television to you, Wes.”

“You can stream it on my laptop,” Bertie said, helping me across the room.

“I don't know about streaming, but if I don't get in that little room soon . . .”

We made it there, and Bertie just kept standing around.

“I'll call you if I need you, son. Thanks.”

“Okay, I'll go get my laptop. Be right back.”

Streaming from a laptop. It was a whole new world, wasn't it?

I took my pills from Les, and Bertie set me up with actual live television on his computer. For the record, the computer did not smell. So I was all propped up and Les came in with a bowl of chicken soup and some buttered toast on a tray. Now, this was living!

“I thought you might be famished,” she said.

“You know, now that you mention it, I am.” It smelled delicious.

She moved the computer aside and put the tray on my lap.

“Call me when you're done, or I'll just send Charlotte or Bertie up to get it.”

“Les, you're the best! Isn't it wonderful to be here with all of us together?”

“I think the pain medicine has gone to your brain, Wes. Really.”

“Well, thanks for the soup.”

She left the room and I thought, Oh, boy, this isn't going to be easy. I reached for my cell phone and called the house. Les answered.

“Why are you calling the house?” she said.

“Because it hurts too much to call out for someone. Can I talk to Bertie?”

“Sure.
Bertie?
”

“What's up, Dad?”

“Get your sister and come upstairs.”

“Uh, okay.”

A few minutes later here came Bertie and Charlotte.

“I brought you a slice of chocolate cake and a glass of milk,” Charlotte said. “It's pretty good.”

“It's hard to get good chocolate cake in Kathmandu,” Bertie said.

“I'll bet. Thanks,” I said. “Sit down.”

They sat and looked back and forth at each other.

“Okay, what's wrong with your mother?” I took a bite of the cake. It was delicious.

“Good question,” Charlotte said. “She gave us total hell last night.”

“Yeah, we weren't going to say anything about it with you being sick and all, but she totally talked to us like we were a couple of losers,” Bertie said.

“Well, is she wrong? Do you think you're big winners?”

Charlotte stood to leave. “You know what? I liked it better when you and Mom didn't agree on anything.”

“When was that?” I said and didn't know what in the hell she was talking about.

Bertie piped in. “Yeah, she always used to defend us but not last night. I mean, she was really pissed. She went into this whole speech about how we're the only two children on earth who aren't obsessed with pleasing their parents.”

“What's the matter with pleasing your parents?” I said. “Tell me because I'd like to learn something here.”

“It's obsessive behavior that's a problem for me,” Bertie said. “Man, that's sick.”

“I see,” I said.

“If I were you?” Charlotte said. “I'd look out. I'll bet you're next on her list.”

“She's been nothing but nice to me,” I said. “Ask her to come up here. Here, take this with you, please.” I handed her my tray.

A few minutes later, here came Leslie. I put on my best face, under the circumstances.

“Come sit down, sweetheart, talk to me.”

“You okay?” she said.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. So I just wanted to say thank you for everything you've done, Les. You really saved me, you know. I mean, the house is all organized. You cooked all this great food. I'm just so happy to have you back. I'm really hoping you're going to stay.”

“I'm not staying,” she said.

Just like that. She said,
I'm not staying
just like she was saying
Pass the peas
.

“Why not?”

“Are you kidding me? Listen, Wes, ever since I walked in this door I've been cooking and cleaning. No one lifts a finger around here. When I got here, this house was so filthy that I called Martha and had to
beg
her to come back and help me. And she's not coming back unless it's a life-or-death situation. I was so tired I almost fell on my face.”

“We need you, Les. I need you. You're the only one I trust.”

She was as cool as a cucumber as she delivered the lethal blow.

“Trust? You listen to me, Wesley Carter, and hear me good. For thirty years I've been your personal slave, swallowing more nonsense than every dumb goose in Canada. I've scrubbed, cleaned, scrimped and saved, driven old cars, shopped sales, and all the while you've been sitting on twenty-two million dollars! How do you think I feel? I feel like a fool, that's what.”

Oh my God! Wait! She knew!

“I thought I told you to use the key only if I died!” Now I was angry.

“I didn't touch your stupid key. When you get out of bed, go check the tape. Shame on you, Wesley Carter. Shame on all of you. I wish someone in this house could give me just one reason to stay. Just one.”

“Because we need you?” I said.

“Need? You know what? You could've said you
love
me or
please stay because if you left it would break my heart!
But not you. You say stay because
we need you
. Get another maid, Wes. I'm going back to Charleston.”

“What are you saying? Are you telling me you want a divorce?”

“No. No, I'm not saying that. I just don't want to be here until I'm all used up, Wes. There's precious little joy in this for me. Who in this house cares about my happiness?”

She walked out of the room and I thought, Oh my God, I am so screwed.

I called Harold as fast as my fingers could dial his number.

“Hey, Wes! You feeling okay?”

“No. Leslie just told me she found out about the money. She's very angry.”

Silence.

“Bubba? You'd better calm her down, or it's gonna cost you half of everything you own. It's equitable distribution in Georgia. That's the law.”