The Saving Graces (34 page)

Lee.
The Graces always make clam chowder at the beach. Well, we did for two out of our four years here. This was the fifth year, and if ever we needed a tradition, now was the time. So I insisted.
"You two start peeling the potatoes," I told Rudy and Emma-I'd brought five pounds down with us; why buy new ones when I had so many at home?-"and I'll go buy fresh clams. Back in twenty minutes." It turned out to be forty minutes, but they were still peeling when I returned. They sat at the kitchen table, their heads nearly touching, dropping potato peelings into a paper sack on the floor between them. How many dinners have we made in one another's kitchens in the last eleven years? How many glasses of wine have we drunk, how many secrets have we told? They glanced up and smiled at me, then went back to work. The stillness between them was easy and comfortable, they were like an old married couple. I envied them-each still had her best friend. Rudy's thinner these days, though. And Emma's quieter. What am I? Sadder.
Rudy looked up at me curiously. "Did you get the clams?" I hadn't moved from the doorway.
"Yes." I put the bag on the counter. "I went to the post office, too. Sometimes there's a bill in the mailbox, or a tax form or something. I forward it to my mother." "And?" Emma frowned at me. "What's that?" I turned the envelope over in my hand. "A letter. It's from Isabel." They stared. They shoved their chairs back and stood up.
"What do you mean?" "That's not her handwriting." "It's her address, though." "Let me see it. What's the postmark?" I kept the letter and sat down at the table. "It's Kirby's handwriting. The postmark says May eighth." "May eighth. But she..." "Kirby mailed it," I said. "Afterward. It's to all of us, and it's to Neap Tide. She must've known we'd come here. She must've wanted us to read it here." I laid the envelope on the table and we stared at it, our names on separate lines in Kirby's neat script. Isabel's return address in the corner.
"Should we open it?" Rudy stood stiff and straight, gripping her hands under her chin.
"Nab, let's pitch it in the trash. We've got potatoes to peel here." She stuck her tongue out at Emma. "I mean should we open it now? Maybe we should wait until after dinner." "Why?" "More like a ceremony," I said. "Everything else out of the way. Then we could take it out on the deck and read it." "It's raining, and it'll be dark," Emma pointed out.
"It could stop by then. We could light candles." Emma lifted her hands and let them fall, slapping her thighs. "You want to eat dinner before you read Isabel's letter?" So we read it before dinner. But first, Rudy went downstairs and got a fresh pack of cigarettes. Emma opened the best bottle of wine, the Chardonnay we were saving to drink with the chowder, and poured glasses for her and for me. Rudy made herself some iced tea. I went in the bathroom and filled my pockets with Kleenex.
"Who's reading it?" "I am," I said.
Emma raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything. It was still drizzling out, so we sat on the floor in the living room, ashtrays and drinks and tissues placed in strategic spots around us. I slid my thumb under the flap of the envelope, and Rudy said, "Wait," and jumped up. "I have to go to the bathroom." - Emma scowled and sipped her wine while we waited, not looking at me. Steeling herself. She doesn't like to show her emotions in public. Oh, and God forbid she should cry, that would be the end of the world.
Rudy plopped back down and lit up. "Okay," she said, shaking out the match, exhaling a strong stream of smoke. "I'm ready." Inside the envelope were three typewritten pages, and a fourth page in handwriting on top. "This one's from Kirby." "Read it." "Dear Emma, Lee, and Rudy." "Alphabetical order," Emma noted.
"In the last few weeks of her life, Isabel began to feel detached from the things she had known and even the people she had loved. She said it was a gift dying bestowed on the still-living, one that, on the whole, she could have done without. She said it was hard to remember who she had been, the "old Isabel," and she found it especially difficult to care or even talk about many of the things that had once been such vital concerns to her.
"But she wanted to write a letter to -the Saving Graces, and so she had to come back. It was a trip she didn't always want to make. A trip back for love, she said, settling on her left side against the sofa cushions, the only position she could be comfortable in at the last, and slowly dictating the words in this letter that I typed on my computer. It took several sessions; as you know, her strength had diminished significantly by then. I know she wanted nothing more than to slip away, and in fact part of her had already gone. -She would lie for long periods without speaking, not sleeping but perhaps dreaming, detaching from this life, moving to whatever comes next.
"I think the speed of her physical deterioration at the end took her by surprise-she thought she had more time. When she realized the truth, she had no choice but to use me to say the things she still wanted to say. I hope you don't mind my part in this. It was unavoidable. That Isabel trusted me to be the intermediary is a point of pride for me, and a deep satisfaction. You had - the privilege of knowing her longer, but I don't think it's possible you could have lovedher more. - "With kindest regards, Goodloe Kirby." "Who?" "Goodloe Kirby." "Goodloe?" We smiled. A fitting name.
"Okay," Rudy said softly, and I started to read Isabel's letter.
My dears. I hope I'm right, and you are all three at Neap Tide. I want to think you're together and hearing this-Lee, you read it-at the same time. Is it a beautiful day? I'm picturing you on the deck in late afternoon, with the sun going down over the sound. Emma's safe from too much exposure now, so she's in her cutoff jeans and her faded red sweatshirt; she's had her nose in a book all day, and she's ready for a drink and some conversation. Rudy, sleek as a long black cat, what have you been doing? Sketching on the beach, I think. And taking walks by yourself. But now you're sipping a Coke or something, ready to be sociable. And Lee, I think you've prepared some clever hors d'oeuvre, or maybe you've mixed up a fancy drink in the blender. You look smashing in something simple and tasteful you just got at Saks; it's the latest color, and it makes you look very beautiful.
"If you're going to cry," Emma warned, "you can't read it." I thought of writing three separate letters, private letters, but decided against it. We've all kept a secret or two over the years, or shared it with only one other, but most of the time we were a group. So I'm writing to you all at once. Besides, secrets take too much energy.
Rudy-You're my hero. I was never so proud of anyone as I was of you the night you made Curtis move out of the house. So brave! I wish you knew how strong you are. You said you couldn't have done it without us, but I don't believe it. Anyway, even if it were true, isn't that what friends are for? But look at your life-look how gracefully you live it. You don't believe me, I know. Emma, Lee-try to convince her. Rudy, you're so kind, so empty of malice toward -anyone. I admire your strength and valor, all your courage in the face of a childhood, a heritage that would've leveled by now anyone less brave than you. I'm sorry to say I don't think you will ever have an easy time of it, not in this life, but I know you'll live well. Never forget your true friends, who will always be there and will always love you.
Now, men. I hope you can learn to trust one again. I know you will, but I hope it's sooner rather than later, because you have so much to give. Share yourself with someone who deserves you the next time. Arid be careful. Borrow some of Emma's skepticism- Just a little. Pray for some of Lee's good luck.

   I have one more bit of advice. (I'm a1lowed that, don't you think, from my exalted position.) If you can, make peace with your mother. Heal that wound. I don't know for certain-Eric would know, ask him-but I don't think you can move on until you try. I can say this to you myself as a daughter and a mother. It may not work -- but the trying is everything. You'll never be able to control your family's instabilities, but you won't catch them-they're not contagious anymore, because you've grown immune. You have, Rudy. You're not that little girl anymore, the one who stayed with her mother in the bathroom, lay with her on the bloody tiles until the grown-ups came. You're Rudy Surratt, all grown up, clever and creative, and so lovely with your huge, forgiving heart.
I love you, Rudy. I have so much faith in you. I'll be watching you, because your new life is going to be so interesting. Take good care. Only treat yourself with a little of the gentleness you show others, and you'll thrive.

   I paused. "That's all," I said. "The next part is to Emma." Rudy lay down on her back and folded her hands over her eyes. "Keep going," she said thickly. "What's she say to Emma?" First I had to blow my nose.

   Emma-You know what I'm going to miss most about you? The way you keep it to yourself that you think all my New Age beliefs are bullshit. Such forbearance! I love it when you turn your head and roll your eyes, but never say a word. Tolerance, you know, is the essence of friendship. Your tolerance, thank goodness, came from love,- not indifference. Oh, you are so dear to me.
I have advice for you, too, of course. Oh, lots of it. It comes in smug-sounding little epigrams, for some reason: Fear kills. Protecting yourself backfires eventually. Failure isn't failure, it's a step, and life is nothing but steps. Or failures, with occasional, widely spaced -successes. If you don't screw up pretty regularly, you're only running in place. Also, pain isn't all it's cracked up to be; Speaking from experience. And living in fear of pain isn't really living at all.
Got that? - Specifically-How can you not know what to write about? "I haven't found my subject yet," you claim. (And when you tell me about some of your experiments, I must say I can only agree.) I see the problem very clearly: you've been hiding behind stories. They might be good stories, but they're not true, so you hate them. Then you hate yourself. Stop doing this. Telling the truth is scary, I know, but you have enough courage. You do. Emma, don't you really know what to write about? Us, my darling. -Don't you think? Write a book about us. - As for the man you're in love with. This advice may surprise you-you probably think I have no sympathy for the other woman, considering my marital history. I do believe that good behavior is important, and so is honor, and honesty. But if everyone perpetuates a wrong out of the very best of intentions, it's still a wrong. The child you're both protecting can't be protected, not like this, and neither can the woman. It's time to move, Emma, let life go on. It's so short, oh, it's so short. You can take what you want now. I think you really can.
Try not to be so afraid. You told me you didn't have room for any more suffering. Well, I'm gone now; I've freed up a little room for you. Ha. I can't deny that love sometimes requires suffering, but if this man is the one for you, he'll be worth it.
Oh, must I keep calling him "this man"? For heaven's sake, tell Lee who he is. I promise you, she won't be shocked.
Thank you for the gifts you've given me-so much laughter, your lovable insecurities, your loyalty. There's no one else like you. It's been my privilege to love you. Now, be brave-follow Rudy's example! And all will be well.
I looked up. "That's the end. Okay, who's the guy?" Emma looked close to tears. That was so upsetting to me, I made a joke. "It's Henry, isn't it?" She gaped-she believed me! It was wonderful- this never happens, it's always the other way around. Then she got it, and burst out laughing. "Oh, God," she said, and flopped over on her back next to Rudy. I watched their stomachs bump up and down in time to their teary-faced giggling. Oh, so Rudy knew, too.
"Am I the only one who doesn't know who this man is?" Emma popped up. "I'm sorry- it was sticky, Lee, I just couldn't tell you." "Well? So? Tell me now." I could see she was nervous. "Okay. It's Mick." "Mick! Mick Draco?" I couldn't have been more surprised. "But I thought you didn't even like him!" I wanted details-but first I wanted to read Isabel's letter to me. "Why didn't you tell me? I hardly even see Sally anymore, if that's what you were worried about." "Well, you know. Yeah. Partly." "Henry talks to Mick, though," I said. "You know Sally's moved back to Delaware." Emma's slack-jawed expression said no, she didn't know. - "What's this, now?" Rudy said, sitting up, too.
"They've separated. You didn't know? Mick's probably going to move to Baltimore so he can study art at the Maryland Institute." "But-Jay-but what about Jay-" Emma couldn't even make her tongue work. First she went white, now she was pink-faced.
"They're working it out. Sally's got him for now, but they're talking about sharing custody. This just happened, according to Henry. Like about a week ago." "Why didn't you tell me?" She went white again. Before I could answer that ridiculous question, she whispered, "Why didn't he tell me?" and covered her mouth with her hands. "I told him I wouldn't wait," she mumbled through her fingers. "What if he doesn't care anymore? Oh, but at the service, he was so- But why do you think he didn't tell me? Should I call him? Would that be pushy? What if he's not interested anymore, what if he's moved on? What if he found someone else?" "In a week?" "It's possible!" "Well, then you'll suffer," Rudy said.
"Isabel says suffering's worth it," I said.
Emma took her hands away. "Right. Okay. I'll call him." She started to get up.
"Hey!" "Oh." She dropped back down, laughing, blushing with embarrassment. "Sorry, I'm sorry, go ahead, finish the letter." "Well, not if it's going to inconvenience you in any way, God knows I wouldn't want to-Stop it, cut it out, would you? That's enough-" But I couldn't help laughing when she put her arms around me and kissed me all over my face. Rudy cracked up. I hate when Emma does that, which of course is why she does it.
But it worked-the three of us finally, finally felt normal again, like our old selves with one another. It was the best time for us since Isabel died.
"Okay, I'm reading this now. Do you mind? Get hold of yourselves." "Right," said Rudy.
"Right. We're serious. Read." Emma drew her knees up and hugged them. Even her face looked different- sharper, as if her skin had tightened or the bones were sticking out more than they had five minutes ago. She was like a stretched wire; if you plucked her she'd make a high, tight, pinging sound.
I turned back to Isabel's letter. I really wanted to read it by myself, but that wouldn't have been fair.
Lee. Sweetest Lee. What should I say to you? We've talked so much in these last days, there's very little left to say. Except that I'll miss you so much. Have Rudy and Emma thanked you lately for starting our women's group? They should. Once a week at least, I should think.