The Obituary Writer (17 page)

Then she opened her mouth and said one word.

“David,” she said. “David.”

“Mom?” Peter said.

The old woman looked at her son without any sign of recognition.

“Mom,” he said again, sitting beside her on the bed, her eyes closely following his movements. “It’s Peter.”

When she didn’t respond, he added, “Your son.”

Claire heard footsteps hurrying down the hall and stepped back into the corridor. A very young nurse was rushing past, her hair shaken loose from beneath her cap. A name tag pinned to her breast said,
STUDENT NURSE
, and beneath it her name,
PENNY
.

“Excuse me,” Claire said to her. “Penny? I’m sorry to stop you but we need someone in here, fast.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “I only just started my rotation here,” she said. “Is it a real emergency?” Her cheeks turned pink beneath the freckles that blanketed her face.

“I think so,” Claire told her.

Penny looked frightened. “I only just started,” she said again.

“Could you run to get someone who can help?”

She nodded, relieved, and ran off in the direction of the nurses’ station.

Claire stepped back into the room where Peter was speaking softly to his mother.

“And here’s Claire,” he said. “My wife Claire.”

Birdy turned a slow steady gaze on Claire.

“You’re in the hospital,” Peter told her.

“I can see that,” she said, her voice a dry croak.

Peter smiled at that, a glimmer of his mother coming back.

Claire poured her a glass of water and held it to the old woman’s lips.

“Who’s David?” Peter asked when she’d finished sipping.

Birdy looked at him, surprised.

“What do you know about that?” she asked.

“You just called for him,” Peter said.

His mother smiled sadly. “So,” she said, “at the end of my life, I call for David.”

“No one said it’s the end of your life,” Claire said quickly.

“Darling,” Birdy said, resting her head back on the pillow and closing her eyes, “I’m saying it.”

She was quiet for a moment, then she said softly, “I dreamed of Lotte.”

Claire glanced at Peter, but he just shrugged.

“I dreamed I was at her farm, at one of her dinners, and Pamela was there and everyone looked so healthy. So happy. Even me,” she added.

Again Claire glanced at Peter.

“You’ve got a whole cast of characters who I don’t even know,” Peter said, stroking his mother’s hand.

Birdy sighed. “It was all so long ago,” she said wearily.

Penny poked her head in, her face redder and her eyes more frightened.

“Jeez,” she said, “everyone’s gone to the solarium to watch the inauguration. That’s where I was headed when you stopped me. They almost canceled it, you know. The inauguration. On account of the snow. I heard it’s only twenty-two degrees out there and with the wind and all it feels more like seven degrees.”

“Well, you need to forget about that and go find a doctor,” Peter said sharply.

“But I looked,” Penny insisted.

“Maybe you could go up to the solarium?” Claire suggested. “If they’re all there?”

The girl nodded. “I’ll do that,” she said, happy to leave the room.

Claire wondered how she would ever make it as a nurse.

“Why don’t you go with her?” Peter said to Claire. “That one might forget to come back.”

“All right,” Claire said.

She too was relieved to go. She would find a doctor, but she would also get to watch a tiny bit of the inauguration. Maybe she would even get to glimpse Jackie.

Walking quickly, she caught up with Penny at the elevator.

“What’s the emergency anyway?” Penny said when she recognized Claire beside her.

“My mother-in-law,” Claire said. “She had a severe heart attack last night and the doctor said she wouldn’t pull through. But now she’s talking to us. Gibberish, but just the same.”

Penny’s eyes glazed, as if she had no interest in the events at all.

The elevator arrived and after they stepped in and the doors slid shut, Penny said, “I’m only doing this to marry a doctor. All the sick people and stuff aren’t exactly my cup of tea.”

Surprised at the girl’s honesty, and her motivation, Claire couldn’t even think of a response.

“If you marry a doctor,” Penny continued, “your life is so easy. I bet I’ll have a built-in swimming pool and wall-to-wall carpeting and everything.”

“But life isn’t about things like that,” Claire said.

Now Penny looked surprised. “Oh, isn’t it? It doesn’t look like you did too bad for yourself. That husband of yours is kind of dreamy, and you’re both dressed like you’re not hurting for anything.”

“Yes, but I meant to say that you should fall in love for love’s sake, not—”

Penny interrupted her with a sharp laugh. “It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is a poor man, I say.”

The elevator stopped and the doors slowly opened. Claire immediately saw the solarium at the end of the hall, with a crowd of people spilling from it.

“How did you meet your husband?” Penny asked Claire.

“On an airplane. To Paris,” Claire said.

“Paris,” Penny said, impressed.

“I was an air hostess and—”

“Aha!” Penny said, pointing a finger at Claire. “That’s another way to meet rich guys.”

Claire struggled to respond. How could she tell this girl that marrying for security, for the wrong things, would not make her happy?

But Penny did not want to talk. She walked into the solarium ahead of Claire, who watched her survey the room before going to stand by a tall young doctor with glasses like Buddy Holly used to wear. Penny planted herself beside him. When the doctor spoke to her, she looked up at him without raising her head, just by lifting her eyes slowly upward.

On the television, the presidential motorcade moved slowly up Pennsylvania Avenue. Claire saw the car with JFK and Jackie come into view. He wore a silk top hat. Jackie wore a hat too, a seamless wool felt one in taupe. Taupe? Claire thought. She strained to see if she could tell what color Jackie’s outfit was yet. But she couldn’t make out anything but their beautiful faces smiling out beneath their hats. Roberta had thought Jackie wouldn’t wear a hat at all, even though all of the other women had insisted that protocol demanded it. And here she was in a hat tipped to the back of her head rather than sitting straight on top. Claire smiled to herself. Now they would all have to start wearing their hats that way.

“She’s hanging in there still,” the man beside her said.

At first Claire didn’t recognize him, but then she realized this was the doctor they’d spoken to earlier.

“Doctor!” she blurted. “My goodness, I almost forgot. I came here to get you.”

He glanced at the television, and then back at Claire.

“She spoke to us,” Claire said. “She sat up and spoke.”

Once again, the doctor glanced at the TV.

Then he sighed. “Let’s go take a look,” he said.

As Claire and Dr. Spirito walked down the hallway, Claire begged off, pointing to the ladies’ room.

“Of course, of course,” Dr. Spirito said, continuing on his way.

But instead of going into the ladies’ room, Claire ducked into one of the phone booths that lined the wall. Inside, she sat on the small stool and emptied her change purse. Almost five dollars in nickels and dimes. Surely that would be enough to call Rose. The idea had struck her as soon as she saw the bank of phone booths, their wooden doors lined up in a neat row. Rose had popped into her mind so frequently since they’d left yesterday that Claire decided to call her old roommate.

The operator found Rose’s number in New London and told Claire how much money to deposit. Like magic, there was a brief pause, then the shrill ring of the phone in her ear.

“Hello,” Rose answered, her voice the same husky one Claire used to envy.

“Rose, it’s Claire Fontaine,” Claire said, returning to her maiden name easily.

“Claire!” Rose shrieked.

Then, away from the receiver, she called, “Honey, it’s Claire Fontaine on the line,” and Claire heard Ed exclaiming what a wonderful surprise this was and how the hell was old Claire?

Claire had stood up for Rose and Ed at their wedding, and Rose had done the same for hers six months later. That was the last time they’d seen each other. Ed wrote Christmas letters, long funny ones about his layovers with TWA and what Rose had redecorated that year and which exotic location they’d hiked or biked, Ireland and Argentina and Greece. At first, Claire had sent Christmas cards, beautiful paper cuts of snowflakes or winter scenes, a quick note written inside, a photo of Kathy in a baby Santa suit trimmed in white fake fur one year, the next a snapshot of her in the snow in her red snowsuit. But nothing this past Christmas. Claire had been too overwhelmed by everything that had happened to pretend they were still a happy family.

“It is so funny that you’re calling today,” Rose was saying. “Ed and I were just talking about you after the news last night.”

“News?”

“Aren’t you still down in Alexandria, Virginia?” Rose asked. “We didn’t get a card from you at Christmas—”

“I know,” Claire said, remembering how in his Christmas letter this last time, Ed had actually written in rhyme. “I’m sorry. Life has been—”

“Well, then you know about that boy who was kidnapped down there,” Rose said.

“Dougie Daniels? Oh, Rose, it was just awful. He lived two streets away from us. In fact, I saw the car that afternoon.”

“She saw the car that took that boy,” Rose said, away from the phone again.

“No shit,” Claire heard Ed say.

“But you didn’t hear that they caught the man?” Rose said to Claire.

“What? They did?” Claire said. Odd that Dot hadn’t mentioned that when they’d spoken earlier.

“He lived in . . . where did he live, Ed?” Ed’s reply was muffled. But then Rose said, “He lived in Arlington. The Shirley Park Apartments. Do you know them?”

“No.”

“Apparently he was some kind of a handyman there. Franklin Smythe. Not Smith. Smythe.”

Claire shook her head. “Such news,” she said.

“His picture’s been plastered all over the newspapers. And they showed him on
Huntley-Brinkley
last night. Gorgeous.”

“What?”

“He’s gorgeous,” Rose said. “Looks like a movie star. Like that young actor. Ed?” she called again away from the phone. “Who’s that actor I like so much? The young guy?”

“Robert Wagner?” Ed said.

“No, not Robert Wagner. I’ll think of it as soon as I hang up,” Rose said, back to Claire now. “Gorgeous,” she said again.

“Wait until Peter hears.”

“Is Peter there?” Rose asked.

“That’s the thing. We’re at the hospital in Rhode Island. His mother,” she added.

“As I remember,” Rose said, “I didn’t much care for her. Kind of stuck-up. Pretty, but kept to herself.”

“I just thought that since we were so close, I should call,” Claire said.

“Did you have to drive in that blizzard?”

“We did. And I’m pregnant. Fat and swollen and uncomfortable,” Claire said.

“Again?” Rose laughed. “Do you two know what’s causing them?”

Claire laughed along with Rose. But the laughter seemed to strangle her, and she coughed to clear her throat and before she knew it she was crying.

“What’s the matter?” Rose was asking, but Claire couldn’t find her voice.

“Can I do anything?” Rose asked.

Claire shook her head, as if Rose could actually see her. Claire thought of all of Rose’s flippant advice, delivered so matter-of-factly, about affairs and blow jobs and men and life. She tried to think of the question she needed an answer to, something that Rose might be able to know how to handle. An affair, yes. But getting caught like that. Being pregnant now.

“Oh,” Claire said finally, “it’s all such a mess.”

“Did he cheat on you?” Rose said quietly, and Claire could imagine her friend stretching the cord of the phone as far as she could so that Ed wouldn’t hear. “Is that it? I know some women get pregnant when they catch their husbands. It’s a way to keep him, they think.”

Claire laughed.

“What?” Rose said.

“Rosie,” Claire said, still laughing, “the thing is,
I
had the affair—”

“What?”

“—and he found us together and now I’m pregnant—”

“Claire,” Rose said, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You always said it was all right. That affairs were all right.”

“That was before I got married, I guess,” Rose said, her tone no longer warm and caring.

“But, Rose—”

“I think you’d better get ahold of yourself,” Rose said. “Jesus, Claire. You’re Peter’s wife. You’re a mother.”

Claire rested her head against the wall. Bored people had carved their initials in the wood. Someone had written
HELP
!!!! in pen. The hot, airless phone booth reeked of perfume and sweat mixed with the hospital odors. She tried to picture Rose on the other end of the phone, in her home in Connecticut. Hadn’t she told Claire once that she could see the ocean from her living room window? Is that where she stood now, her face creased with judgment, Ed looming somewhere in the background?

“This baby,” Rose began, but she stopped herself.

“Rose,” Claire said, breathing in the strange phone booth smells. “Maybe I could come and visit you. I would like that.”

There was a silence that seemed to go on forever.

“Rose?” Claire said.

“That would be swell. But Ed’s got a flight to Rome and I think I’m going to go along.”

“Oh.”

“Remember that crazy place where we used to get Chanel bags? Down that alley?”

“I should hang up,” Claire said.

“I can get you one, if you want,” Rose said. A peace offering. “Nothing cheers a girl up like a new bag.”

“Thanks,” Claire said.

After she hung up, Claire sat in the phone booth, her head pressed against that wall, taking slow deep breaths.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there before the accordion door opened.

“Oops,” a man said. “I didn’t know you were in here.” He was holding a jar of dimes.