(18 months earlier)
Jen’s husband says at night they meet at Women School to learn their Women Logic. Everyone laughs except Jen, sobered by a sudden wave of guilt. He’s like that, hitting upon ideas like furniture in a dark room. Rarely a clue as to what he’s stumbled upon. She watches him rise to leave the pub, bring the car to the door so she won’t have to carry the baby in the cold. She decides to start a club for women who objectify men. She will be president.
Jen’s favorite line from a poem is Women like to edit their men. Mean.
Alby get up from the table next, swiping her witchy black mane from under her coat collar, mischief dancing in her cerulean blue eyes. She hands Jen a lunar calendar so she’ll have something to blame her moods on, and hugs her goodbye. Moon in Scorpio tonight. Jen’s thinking maybe she’ll wear her new leather boots and steal her mother’s motor scooter.
Not that her mother even has the motor scooter anymore. She used to, but Jen’s father never let her drive it. So she sold it to Jen, but then Jace came along and, you guessed it, never let her ride it. This after he drove it home for her one windy day along the river road, wobbling in the wind like a flame. When he got to the house he was shaking and muttering about the wheels being too small.
She had driven it that morning through the burning autumn fog, sunlight slicing through the trees, the cold seeping through her leather coat and steaming up her visor. She had known it was too late in the season but she loved every minute of it. She was frightened, but the fear made it even more beautiful. She had not imagined it was her last ride. She had not known she was pregnant, and that Jace would not allow her precious cargo to careen through the wind on such tiny wheels, so exposed to peril, so vulnerable without a thousand pounds of metal binding her in.
Jen sold it to her friend Lou, a Virgo painter she’d met in group therapy. Lou had been the quiet one in group, until you got to know her. Dark eyes contrasting her long blond hair. Sometimes her frail body would shiver like a poodle. She’d slowly close her eyes as if to banish some horrid memory. Once she bought the motor scooter, however, Lou immediately got a butterfly tattooed on her bum, and sported a new, adventurous life suddenly rift with biker boys who would leave her before morning light.
Jen is thinking of Lou, of calling her tonight, when she sees the Saint walk into the bar in her sure, country gait. Saint is thinner now, must be driving herself like a maniac at the gym. Her flaxen hair is in a loose chignon. No glasses anymore to hide her stone cold grey eyes from the world. Her broad, Slavic features seem somehow refinished, refined by a skilled makeup artist. Maybe Saint has finally learned how to wear makeup. Unbelievable. Jen feels like she’s going to be sick, has been dreading running into her. She hasn’t seen Saint in the flesh for seven years now, since that mess. She looks away and pretends not to see her, hoping Saint will not recognize her. Rosemary nudges Jen, points to the car out front, Jace waving frantically—hello, hello—she says let’s go and gives Jen a funny look.
Jen is thinking of how boring she appears, worn jeans and baggy sweater hiding the loose and wandering remnants of a once-ripe belly, no time for makeup to hide the dark, guilty circles of late-night-nursing sessions. Her hair clings insolently to her head, almost brown now from the hormone shift and a lack of highlights, and angry that she only manages to wash it a few times a week lately. She is a woman undone by love. This shames her in the radar of Saint’s unblinking eyes. Jen looks straight at her again; Saint’s standing there on the other side of the bar, stock still like something about to pounce. For a moment, they lock stares. Nothing has changed, Jen thinks. Just hatred there, making her feel small. Like all those rotten letters, pure venom punctuating their friendship once upon a time.
Saint never trusted her real thoughts to email or text. Instead, she’d wax poetic on the page like some Victorian steampunk throwback, defying prying eyes or posterity by eschewing the electronic world. Writing by hand seemed to preclude the kind of editing, the second thoughts that a normal person might have before expressing something devastating to the recipient. Saint always said it was for Jen’s own good. That it kept their friendship honest. Jen’s face is burning at the memory of the things she was told about herself in studious script on cotton bond. She looks away, is not up to this today. To all the remembering, and failure.
Rosemary is sizing up Saint. She turns and gives Jen a look. Jen fumbles with Chris’s jacket, trying awkwardly to slide his little arm into the impossible hole. He starts wailing.
Child abuse in section five. Everyone turns to see what she’s done to him. The crowd is unforgiving. Apparently, women aren’t supposed to bring babies to pubs. This silent message pierces Jen’s heart. She hasn’t quite been able to forfeit her old haunts, hasn’t shed that other self and transformed into the miraculous Madonna that people expect. Their pasty faces return to their draughts while Chris catches his breath, readying himself for part two of the jacket trauma. She wants to slide out the window.
The Saint looks past her, out the window, like she doesn’t exist now, and Jen’s grateful. Her face is half-hidden by the poker machine on the bar; she is squinting, trying to see something outside, intent, calculating. Then she turns her head as a tall brunette walks up to her, as if meeting her. The brunette looks familiar, but Jen can’t quite place her.
Just then, Jace flies in, out of breath. “Come on, you guys, I parked out front, they’ll tow me!”
“We’re coming,” Jen says, pissed that he’s drawing attention when she’d like to make a quiet exit. “Help me get Chris’s things.”
“I’ll carry him, you get the diaper bag and the stroller,” he says. He picks Chris up and fumbles with the second sleeve of the jacket. Chris starts wailing again. Jace throws a blanket over him. “It’s okay, pumpkin, we’re going for a car ride, shhhh, there there now…” His cries are muffled against Jace’s chest. He strides out of the bar with his precious cargo. Jen watches Saint watch him leave, and doesn’t like it one bit.
Rosemary is trying to break down the stroller, but is giggling because just when she gets one part down, the other one pops up. Jen wants to get out of here.
“Let’s just roll it outside, that way we don’t have to carry it. I’ll collapse it at the car,” Jen says.
“Okay,” Rosemary says.
They’re just about through the doors when Jen realizes she forgot her sunglasses and has to go back. Rosemary stands at the door, waiting. She’s tempted to leave them, but won’t be cowed. This time when she walks by, Saint grabs her arm. She whirls around.
“Oh, hi,” she says.
“Heard you were coming back,” Saint smirks.
“Yeah, we just moved last month,” Jen says, looking toward the ground, unable at first to make eye contact.
“Still playing house, I see. Jen the earth-mommie.”
“It’s not a game,” Jen looks up and glares at her.
“Isn’t it?” Saint laughs. “Everything’s a game, Jen. But forgive me, have you met Alice?” she asks, waving at the brunette who’s leaning against the bar looking slightly uncomfortable.
Jen holds out her hand to introduce herself, and says they haven’t met.
“Actually, we have met, Jen. I work for Alby over at Haven Gallery – in PR,” says Alice. She holds herself aloof, either hurt that Jen didn’t recognize her, or swayed by unkind things Saint must have told her.
“Oh God, Alice, yes, I’m so sorry – I just didn’t recognize you out of context,” says Jen, flushing. “Nice to see you, but I’ve got to run.”
But Saint won’t let her escape that easily. She reaches out and grabs her arm again.
“Good luck, Jen. I have to say I’m surprised you had it in you.”
“Had what in me,” Jen says, shooting as much fury as she can muster into Saint’s cold eyes.
“The guts. To come back here. It’s not like you.”
“What the fuck do you know about what I’m like anymore?” Jen says, sotto, not wanting to say more in front of Alice. Now that she knows who she is, she also remembers that Alice used to work at the paper before going to work for Alby. So she knows all of Jace’s work buddies.
“More than you’d like me to,” Saint smirks.
Jen just shakes her head and walks away. She’s trembling and her knees feel weird.
“See you around,” Saint calls after her.
Jen doesn’t turn around, just stares straight ahead and goes through the door. Rosemary follows.
“Who was that woman with Alice, Jen?”
“Guess.”
“Oh my God, was that her? The Saint?” she laughs. “What a bizarre woman. How does she know Alice?” Rosemary asks.
“Beats the fuck outta me,” mutters Jen.
Jen is silent in the car. Jace finds this alarming. What’s wrong, he wants to know.
“Nothing. I’m just thinking,” she says
“Who was that woman staring at you?” he asks.
“That was the Saint!” Rosemary leans forward between the seats.
“Really?” Jace says, “She didn’t look the way I pictured her.”
“How did you picture her?” Jen asks, a little too sharply.
“I dunno. I guess I thought she’d be ugly. Dykish.”
They’re all quiet now, thinking about what “not ugly, not dykish” might mean exactly. Jace turns down Rosemary’s street. Jen notices the lawns are all brown, like shredded wheat. It is barely March, but there’s been an early melt this year, which has left the world looking ugly. Jen’s wondering when things will be green again as they pull up to the curb in front of Rosemary’s house.
Rosemary doesn’t have a driveway. It took her a long time to find a house without one. The houses on either side have driveways, and this confuses her guests. Rosemary went through a phase where she wouldn’t drive a car, couldn’t stand to, and after what happened to Rob, nobody blames her. Rosemary kisses Chris goodbye, making baby sounds at him, and thanks Jace for the ride.
“Hey Jen, call me tonight, okay?”
“Sure,” Jen says.
Rosemary walks down the interlocking brick path to her door of her red brick and stucco Victorian cottage. She turns around and waves as they are pulling away, and Jen holds the vision of her in her mind for a while: a petite woman with cropped black hair and olive skin accented by the deepest red lipstick known to science; baggy black car coat that terminates mid-thigh to reveal jeggins and slipper-shoes. Rosemary has always looked like a hipster, even though she’s now a department head.
Jen remembers the day Rosemary bought the house a few years back. It was exciting, but sad in a way. They had been through the place about six times before, so it felt like home already as they walked through the rooms with the plaster walls and gleaming pine floors. The house was vacant, an estate sale. The woman who had lived there had stayed her entire life, until she was ninety-six. Rosemary thought this was a good omen.
You could tell the house wasn’t the same as when the woman had lived there. The paint was too fresh, the floors obviously sanded. No, clearly someone wanted to increase the value of the house. Shear away the years the woman walked over the pine, wearing it down with her tenacity.
Rosemary offered them full price, no conditions. She was determined. This was her house. She signed her name on the offer, in small, bold script. Jen signed as witness, and watched Rosemary’s agent sigh with relief. Eight months of house-hunting with such a particular client had worn him down.
Rosemary walked through the rooms, telling Jen where she’d put things, pointing out unusual features. It was exciting, but sad in a way too. Because it meant that Rosemary and her cats were committing themselves to a life alone. Jen understood this, was perhaps a bit envious even, but it still seemed sad.
Jen thought of Rob, with his flowing chestnut hair and his Guatemalan wristband, shirtless and laughing on the sundeck of Rosemary’s old apartment. He was always coming and going, and Jace and Jen wondered when he’d decide to just stay. Rob’s seeming lack of permanency seemed to disturb Jace in particular. One day Rob and Jace went to a vintage record store together while Rosemary and Jen wandered the mall. They never found out what Jace had said, but out of the blue Rob proposed that night as the four of them were having dinner. Rosemary gave him a funny look, as if he were drunk, and returned to her pasta. Nobody said anything for a while, ‘til Rob broke the awkward silence to ask if that was a no.
“No, it’s not a no,” Rosemary said. “It’s a ‘we’ll discuss it later.”
But of course Jace chimed in with: “Why not have a hippy wedding in the park. We’ll tie dye your clothes for you, and Jen will cook. We can have a reception for Jen’s folks’ house.”
Rosemary and Jen just looked at each other; they hadn’t tie-died for years, by choice. But they saw that Jace thought it would appeal to Rob. Next thing you know, they were all sitting around making plans, and Rosemary was laughing, as if it were just a flight of fancy. But it was a wedding alright, because it changed everything.
Three months later, Rosemary and Jen were in a coffee shop one day when Jen was down visiting, and Rosemary was telling her she just couldn’t believe how things had soured. Sure, they were still wildly in love, but he was saying things like, Why didn’t you clean the fucking kitchen, we’ll get bugs? or When the hell are we going to have some clean clothes to wear around here? Rosemary worked all day, and spent her nights grading papers. Unlike most of her peers in the English department, she assigned her students a heavy workload, and was meticulous in her comments. Rob was writing all day– he wrote for magazines like Mother Jones–but it never occurred to him that he was the only one who could really make time for the monotony of chores. Jen told her that was normal, and that love needed a maid. This didn’t seem to reassure her. Rosemary has a bad temper.
Then, about a month later, they were fighting about something, a big fight, from what Jen heard about it. Rosemary still can’t remember what started it. But Rob smashed the beautiful sculpture Jen had made them as a wedding gift, and Rosemary threw him out. Told him never to come back. He didn’t, but not by choice.
They said it wasn’t his fault, that the trucker didn’t see him in the left lane, just moved on over, by the time he noticed, it was too late, Rob had driven straight into the cement bunker that divided the highway.
It took a while for them to find Rosemary to identify him. His plates hadn’t been renewed and no one now living at his old address knew him or where he belonged.
Sad things happen to all Jen’s friends, it seems. She’s always waiting for her turn. She knows how tricky fate can be. She thinks maybe that’s what preserves her.
Jace wants to know what she’s thinking about as they drive along the river. Chris is asleep in the car seat, bubbles of spit making his lips shine like a cherub’s. Jace always wants to know what Jen’s thinking and she never knows what to say. Sometimes, she’ll give him a list of the topics she’s been wandering through, but then she has to repeat them all. Then they’re open for discussion, and if she’s thinking about them, she doesn’t want to discuss them. So most often she lies and says ‘nothing’. Then she feels guilty, like she’s shutting him out. This time, she makes a decision, lies, and says, Nothing, hon, just taking it all in. Jace seems happy with this. He turns up the radio. She’s free to think again, but has lost her train.
She decides she’ll call Lou tonight to see if she can borrow the motor scooter. She’d like to take just a quick trip around town, to remember the feeling. Jace won’t like this but he won’t stop her either. He knows when she needs things. Unless she needs things from him. Then she has to spell it out.
She knows she’s feeling restless because she saw Saint today. She knew when they moved back here that she’d have to deal with her for once and for all. She knew this because she kept dreaming about her. Very real-seeming dreams. In one, she wanted a ride to a city about three hours from here. Jace offered to take her, and then brought her back to their home and fucked her in front of all Jen’s friends. In the dream, Jen knew it was spite, just to prove that she could do it, but that didn’t explain why Jace did it. Jen told him about the dream and he was deeply offended. He doesn’t understand why she always dreams about him doing terrible things. Actually, Jen doesn’t understand it either. Her suspicion of fate must tell her psyche that if it isn’t happening, if it isn’t likely, then it could be. Anything can happen anytime. There are no guarantees.
Someone can seem like the nicest person in the world. Then she’d find out what their kick was. Like in her single days, when she’d start dating a nice guy, one who said he respected women, can’t stand guys who treat women like shit, then suddenly she’d start getting obscene phone calls. She’d know it was him, her number was unlisted, but no one would ever believe her. No one wants to acknowledge the other side, the side that makes a person whole. And outwardly, she could never act like it really was him, she had nothing to go on but a gut feeling.
A part of Jen believes that what actually happens is always different than what’s going on in someone’s head, or what someone wants you to believe is happening.
Jace swings the car into the driveway and sends up a cloud of dust. Tiny nuggets of gravel ping against the side of the car. The landlord had said he would pave it, but Jen knows she should have included it in the lease. But the landlord wants them to buy it eventually, so maybe he will get around to having the drive paved.
The trouble is, the house is on the river, so it’s worth a lot more than they can likely afford when it comes to a purchase. For the same money, they could get a bigger house in town, but Jace says he needs to be near the water. Jen thinks it’s time to stop moving around so much. Three times this year alone.
It’s just that she can’t seem to help herself. Spring and fall are the worst, it’s like there’s something in the air that makes her read the classifieds. But this time she was sure, she wanted to come back here. She can’t let go of this place or her friends here. Things finally came together last month. Jace’s company transferred him back.
Chris seems glad to be out of the car seat, and free to roam. Or try to roam. The poor little guy gets so frustrated trying to crawl at a mere five months old. Jen doesn’t know what his hurry is, but supposes it’s genetic. Her mom says she was like that, an unfortunate carry-over in adulthood. Rushing into things, that is.
Jace has turned on the TV, and Jen is thinking she’ll slip away onto the porch. She can’t stand the damned thing blaring in her ear all the time. She says, “Hon, will you watch Chris while I go out to the porch?”
He gives her a look, like, yeah, I guess, but I’m not very happy about it. She takes that as a yes, and goes through the kitchen to the adjoining sunroom that looks out over the river. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy Chris, he’s a great father. She thinks it’s just that he always feels like he’s being ripped off. Everything seems a chore to him, things that she doesn’t even think twice about doing. It’s not that he’s lazy, he just wasn’t raised with an understanding of what the deal was. He can’t comprehend that things have to be done, and that he has to think about them, figure them out, and do them. He’d rather drift from one moment to the next, without a care in the world. Jen thinks in his mind he pencils down every single thing he ever does, like an account, so he can be sure he has backup if anyone suggests that he isn’t giving enough. He hasn’t learned to take pleasure in the little things, in each movement. She supposes he’s not grateful enough, hasn’t been far enough down that road. It makes her angry when he sulks. Like, poor dear, welcome to the real world. She doesn’t know why she always buy damaged goods. Somebody must have told her she couldn’t afford the good stuff.
The sun is getting ready to go down, bleeding all over the sky like a punctured bath bead, soon enough it will dissolve entirely. Jen loves it when it leaves a layer of green on its way down. They say it’s from the pollution, but she doesn’t care, it’s beautiful anyway. You have to take pleasure in the little things, she thinks. How can she explain this to Jace? He’s so sweet, so gentle. And she’s so confused. Only half there for him, and he knows it. In fact, that’s likely why he’s so miserable. He’s sure that Jen too will leave, like everyone else in his life. She doesn’t know anymore. Who can tell what she’ll do, what changes will slip by unnoticed.
Her tea kettle is screaming. She feels guilty for feeling this way. In the kitchen, she asks Jace if he wants some tea, but he can’t hear her for the damned TV. So she makes him one anyway, Lemon Verbena, the kind he likes, and takes it out to him. He can’t possibly know her thoughts, but he looks at her in his sad way, and reaches up for a hug. She loves him dearly, hate and all, but has to get back to the porch before she cries. It wasn’t always like this. At least, Jen thinks it wasn’t, but she doesn’t know anymore what happened to her love, to her art, or how it all went MIA.