Trying the Knot (20 page)

“My dad’s dying of terminal fucking
inoperable brain cancer, you dumb-fucks! I’m nobody’s child,” she
screamed at his backside as he fled the hospital room.

After the police officer left, Evangelica
wailed the birthing process would never end, and her Chucky-doll
fetus was wreaking its final vengeance. From the floor, Ben scooped
her up and threw her on the bed. He told her she was acting worse
than a crazed, pre-Annie Sullivan Helen Keller. It was not until an
hour later she finally collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

Just prior to sunup, Ben awoke half on a
chair to the sound of groans coming from the bathroom. He found a
sweaty defeated Vange rocking on the toilet. He held onto her,
rubbed her head and took her weak punches while she sobbed softly.
Vange was unable to speak except in hoarse croaks. Distraught, Ben
called for a nurse and a doctor was summoned, and she finally
delivered her stillborn baby.

The nurses swaddled the baby tightly, and she
made Ben inspect it to ensure it was a whole baby, along with all
of its life sustaining parts. Amazingly enough, the baby looked
healthy. Due to the horrific medical images they had seared in
their minds, they fully expected to encounter a sight of horrific
proportions. Ben watched her as she gently rocked the baby and
softly hummed a lullaby. Without warning, she switched gears and
became the perfect embodiment of a new mother. She was determined
to hold onto her baby for as long as it remained warm, which
amounted to less than an hour. She rocked the baby until she was
unable feel anything more than goodbye. Finally, she asked him
politely to take her away.

“What do I do?”

“Can’t you put her in a box, and bury her,
like you did my cat?” Vange asked hoarsely. Looking as if she had
just crawled through hell, she sat in the middle of the hospital
bed in her nightgown, wringing wet and battered.

“This is totally insane,” Ben muttered,
awkwardly holding the baby. He remembered only too well the
deceased pet kitten that had spurred a marathon bout of depression.
The nurse took the baby away and came back later with a birth
certificate. She would need to name the baby, but Vange
refused.

“Don’t you want your little girl to have a
name?” the nurse asked concerned.

“She was never mine,” Vange said
morosely.

Reluctantly, Vange agreed to have Baby Girl
Whiley cremated. She insisted he one day bury the fetus near the
Swamp of Sadness, and Ben insisted she sleep. He needed to leave
for the lounge to explain their absence from work and not arouse
undue suspicion. Nobody knew where either one of them was, except
for the hospital staff and the police. The doctor administered a
sedative, and Ben began to think Vange had purposefully become
pregnant with a malformed fetus to force him to prove his undying
love for her once and for all.

Several weeks later, Ben asked Jack and Alexa
to help him bury the tiny urn, and together they searched for her
pet kitten’s eternal resting spot, which was merely in a country
ditch next to roadside patch of wetland. She once marked the grave
with an intricate popsicle-stick monument.

In the ditch, Alexa spliced open the ground
with a shovel and began digging furiously. Standing over a hole in
the soggy earth, she said, “I don’t know why you can’t find a
regular sane girlfriend.”

“You’re one to talk,” Ben said, casting a
knowing glance Jack’s way.

“Vange is a lunatic, and the other one is old
enough to be your mother.”

Ben dropped the urn, and Alexa crossed
herself and shoveled loose dirt over it.

“Is this your kid?” Jack asked.

“He’s clueless,” Alexa said when Ben
shrugged. “We’re doing all this work, and he don’t even know if
this kid’s his!” She punctuated the observation by throwing down
the shovel.

“It could’ve been Thad’s baby for all I
know.” Ben retrieved the discarded shovel and stuck it in the
ground between them.

“Oh my God.”

“Yup, this could be your little niece you’re
burying,” Ben said cruelly.

“You’re such an asshole,” Alexa said,
knocking the shovel to the ground.

“Then don’t be such a bitch.”

“Hey, you guys, just cut it out,” Jack piped
in.

“Oh, shut up, Jerkoff,” they responded in
unison. Ben walked to the car, and Jack picked up the shovel.

Alexa called after him, “She’ll be okay,
right?”

“The doctor seems to think so.”

“I mean, she’ll be able to have more babies,
won’t she?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Ben asked. Alexa joined
Ben as they awaited Jack to finish burying the shoebox. Together
they returned to the Dooley household, and they entered through the
back sliding glass door leading into the dust-covered dining
room.

“Will you two ever get married?”

Ben shook his head, confused by her sudden
interest. He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of grapefruit
juice and grabbed a sleeve of crackers. Vange was refusing to eat
anything but rice cakes and Saltines.

“You already act like an old married couple,”
Alexa said. She attempted to trip him as he made his way to the
bedroom.

“Like hell we do,” he said, sidestepping her
reach.

“Do so. Isn’t that juice for her?”

“So, what of it?” Ben asked. “Are you
suggesting I’m whipped?”

“Pussy-whipped,” Alexa taunted. She stuffed a
handful of crackers in her mouth and blew the crumbs out at
him.

“Oh, that’s mighty attractive.”

“You can’t even defend yourself, you’re so
whipped.”

“I plead the Fifth,” Ben said, and he walked
away. Entering the master bedroom, he found Evangelica curled up in
a ball fast asleep. He set the juice down next to the lava lamp on
the dresser, where Ginny stashed her post-sex loot of Milano
cookies. Ben lay down next to Vange and she instinctively moved
closer before shirking away from him.

Evangelica felt his fingers running through
her thick auburn hair, and she waited forever before whispering,
“Maybe it was a bad thing. Maybe I’ve messed up my Karma.” He could
not readily comprehend her obsession with all things metaphysical,
and he offered her a drink.

“Pink grapefruit?”

“Is there any other kind?”

“Hey, Sport,” she began, and then
stopped.

“Yes, what is it, you know you can tell me
anything.”

“Would you like me better if I were more like
Kate?”

Ben was quiet for a long time, and then he
said, “That’s the lamest thing you’ve ever said.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said softly. She
pulled the blanket up over her face and slunk further away.

“Hey.”

Vange kicked him in the leg and yelled
hoarsely, “You fucking asshole. Go be with that prick tease, if
it’s what you really want –

“Who said it’s what I want?”

“Don’t even kid yourself, she’d never give
you the time of day,” Evangelica choked. “You’re delusional.”

“Don’t do this.”

“You don’t understand, Benny,” she said
hopelessly. “I’m not normal.”

“I know, you’re a freak.”

“You don’t know what it’s like. To not belong
anywhere.”

“If you say so.”

“Maybe what I need is a little house on the
prairie this summer.”

“Sure thing.”

“Could you go get me Oreos and a Zero
bar?”

“They’re in the freezer. Just the way you
like.”

From the way her upper body shook, Ben could
tell she was sobbing, and he made no immediate effort to satisfy
this latest junk food craving. He would wait until she was asleep
and surprise her when she awoke. For now, he lay down beside her
and wrapped her close, unaware this would be the last time she let
him touch her ever again.

Feeling water droplets pelting his back, Ben
rolled over to find Ginny shaking her dripping wet, short blond
hair over him. Wearing nude-colored pantyhose and a bra, she leaned
down and showered him with lingering wet kisses. He reached out and
placed his hand on her ass and massaged gently. He loved her
slightly padded, middle-aged rump. She tolerated the few excess
pounds, as a preventative measure to keep her face from “looking
overly skeletal and gaunt like Jane Fonda.” She offhandedly
informed him it was cruel for an aging woman to have to choose one
over the other – the derriere or the face. She chose to sacrifice
the former to salvage the latter, but he did not mind at all. He
grew excited while watching her turn demurely away and tug up her
skirt at the foot of the bed.

When she whirled around to discover his eager
erection, Ginny laughed and said, “You’ll have to take a
rain-check, baby boy. If you’re good, you can have the honors at
The Lounge later tonight.”

“How ‘bout the walk-in cooler?”

“Too chilly in there, I’d have to be swept up
in throes of passion to consider it.”

Once in a while he interrupted her slow
ritualistic process of getting dressed, and they landed back in the
sack making love again. He insisted to see her aglow with
satisfaction made him more excited, but she modestly countered he
was simply horny all the time. Her silk blouse hung open as she
flashed him a lazy contented smile.

“Hurry up and dress, so you can give me a
ride home on that hog of yours,” she said, buttoning her shirt.
Seeing him throw on a T-shirt and climb into a pair of tattered
black jeans, she thought he resembled an adolescent so much that it
almost induced pangs of guilt within her.

“Your little friend isn’t here, is he?” she
asked, referring to Jack. “The last thing I need is my dishwasher
catching me in a compromising situation. He might get the wrong
idea.”

Ben said of the permanent fixture in the
Dooley household. “No, I think Jack’s with his sorta
girlfriend.”

“Who might that be?”

“Alexa Feldpausch.”

“Isn’t she his sort of cousin?”

“Well, since his last girl friend died on
him, I don’t think he can afford to be too choosy,” Ben said, and
she screwed up her face at his distasteful remark. “She’s adopted,”
he explained, as if that alone explained away their incestuous
relationship. “She and Thad both.”

“Thad was the slowest dishwasher I ever had –
employed that is,” Ginny said, applying a light shade of pink
lipstick. She adjusted her bra strap. “His sister is a rather big
girl, isn’t she?”

“I guess so.”

“But Jack’s taller than you.”

“Not really.”

Ginny smiled and held out her outstretched
arms. Her kisses reassured him just because he was short did not
mean she was unsatisfied. “Why don’t you give Chelsea a call while
she’s on break from law school.”

“It’s kind of strange, you’re always
encouraging me to date your daughter.”

“Why not – the name is Ms. Norris, not Mrs.
Robinson,” Ginny said, slipping into her heels. “You have my
blessings to work your magic on Chelsea, then maybe she wouldn’t be
in such a bad mood all the time. It’s law school. She’s just like
her father – always stressed out.”

“As of this morning, your daughter hated my
guts and plans to drop out of school and run away to California or
someplace,” Ben updated her. He struggled to scratch his back, and
she relieved him of the aggravating itch.

Ginny’s manicured nails scratched away under
his t-shirt. “That’s too bad, you’d make a swell couple.”

“You think?”

“Of course. She’ll need a handsome man to mix
up an after work martini,” Ginny concluded. “But if she plans on
quitting law school, maybe she needs something else altogether to
make her happy.”

“Maybe she’s incapable of happiness.”

“Personally, I think she’ll end up the
caretaker of a lighthouse, along with her magical husband. It’ll be
overrun with their sweaty, barefoot kids.”

Ben never pictured Chelsea in such a natural
state of domestic bliss, and it agreed with him. He let his
imagination run wild with possibilities until Ginny forced him to
shelve his fantasies for later by guiding him by his hoop earring
out the door.

With Ginny on the back of his bike, Ben
cruised the long way to her house. Clutching him from behind, she
basked in the concealment the helmet provided. It was as if the
bevy of expectations that came along with being Ginny Norris ceased
to exist, and she was set free to be whomever she wanted. Ben
always dropped her off feeling rejuvenated and full of life. It was
as if he were her day-spa treatment.

They pulled in the driveway, and Chelsea let
a crate slip from her hands. From the boxes scattered across the
lawn, it appeared as if she was loading her car for a move across
country. Still upset over their spat over breakfast, she turned her
nose up at Ben and disappeared into the house. Before pressing her
lips against the back of his left ear, Ginny whispered, “I guess
you weren’t kidding about her hating your guts and running
away.”

The senior Ms. Norris climbed off the
motorcycle, and she handed him his helmet and walked away wit
barely a wave good-bye. As she made her way along the sidewalk, she
looked up to face Chelsea, who was curiously watching her from the
kitchen window. Ginny flashed a beaming smile, and Chelsea
responded by raising a glass of water as if toasting her
mother.

Ginny glanced over at the lounge and rolled
her eyes exasperated. She preferred hassle-free ordinary business
nights to the troublesome family dysfunctions her well-meaning
patrons plagued her with. In her opinion, a night out should be a
romantic affair, not an occasion to subject the world to familial
drudgery. As she stopped to deadhead flowers from her cottage
garden, Ginny heard the blaring of the telephone. It annoyed her
that Chelsea paid no interest in answering the phone, and so she
jogged into the house to retrieve it.

Chelsea met her mother at the backdoor and
held out the cordless phone, “It’s for you.”

“Well, who is it?”