Jack’s death to make her daughter react to it was a mystery. Nelda had always thought Marie’s involvement with Pam and her family a huge mistake. She and her husband, Frank, had fought over it. Then the truth was revealed. He thought that Jack would pay for Marie’s college, and he was right. Nelda never forgave Frank for basically giving Marie up for servitude, the price of a college education. But now she was frightened that some of that animosity was going to be directed at her. Was Marie going to go down memory lane as part of her coming to terms with wasting her life in return for being a full-time, live-in servant for her sister? Nelda didn’t think she was up for that sort of restitution. Marie would demand it—a lot of it.
When they got to her flat in Brooklyn, Nelda didn’t invite her in. The tirade was not over yet, but she had had enough. She insisted on managing her own bags, saying, “The meters running; I can manage just fine.” She kissed her youngest child on the cheek and went up the steps.
Marie didn’t seem to notice that she was being dismissed. But as the cab pulled away from the curb, she realized there was no one else who would listen to her, no one else who cared. Her mother and Pam and Jack were the only people on earth who knew all the players, who understood the dynamics of the family. She had not yet recognized her role in Pam’s family for what it truly was, a diversion for Jack and a buffer for everyone else. Since Pam didn’t care for nightlife, she wasn’t used as a babysitter much. Although the day would come when she would begin to resent where that path had taken her, to nowhere with no family of her own, right now the only deficit she felt was being excluded from the grief of the intimate family circle. The kids even withdrew and clung to their mother! What was that all about? Marie wondered. She arrived home with a head full of rebuttals to everything that was said to her during the funeral. Someone actually said, “You must be strong for Pam.” What the hell did that mean? What about being strong for myself? I loved Jack like a brother—like a brother! Although her counter-ego said, Really? Like a brother?
Sandra drove in with a group of people from the office. Afterward, after the farce, they were going to a diner in Brooklyn, but she couldn’t stand the thought of sitting and making small talk, rehashing the funeral or worse, talking about Jack, so she had them drop her off at the entrance to the subway.
It was hot and smelly in the train car. She drew her dress close around her legs and sat back, closing her eyes. She took deep, slow breathes of the stinky air, forcing her shoulders and back to relax. Pictures went through her head: moments in time, fleeting glimpses of Pam, Jack’s children, Jack lying in the casket. Pam stood like a statue, barely moving her facial muscles, hands clenched at her sides. When approached by a guest, Sandra watched her go through the exact same motions for each one. She raised her hands, grasped the forearms of the well-wisher, and forced a modicum of a smile onto her face. Sandra could almost read her lips from across the room, “Thank you so much for coming; it would have meant so much to Jack.” When it had been her turn to go through the receiving line, Pam grabbed her like an old friend, tears coming to her eyes. “Oh, thank you so much. Thank you so much. It’s so sad, so sad.” She could smell Pam’s perfume, a light, floral scent. Sandra could hardly control her grief at that point and didn’t look down at Jack; it would have been too difficult to stay calm.
Now she regretted not looking at him. The last time she had seen him was in the hospital. The others had remarked how good he looked. No one included her in the conversation, a fact she would be grateful for. No one mentioned anything about them being together or acted like they knew. Perhaps that secret had been maintained after all.
She had to change trains.
When they got to her flat in Brooklyn, Nelda didn’t invite her in. The tirade was not over yet, but she had had enough. She insisted on managing her own bags, saying, “The meters running; I can manage just fine.” She kissed her youngest child on the cheek and went up the steps.
Marie didn’t seem to notice that she was being dismissed. But as the cab pulled away from the curb, she realized there was no one else who would listen to her, no one else who cared. Her mother and Pam and Jack were the only people on earth who knew all the players, who understood the dynamics of the family. She had not yet recognized her role in Pam’s family for what it truly was, a diversion for Jack and a buffer for everyone else. Since Pam didn’t care for nightlife, she wasn’t used as a babysitter much. Although the day would come when she would begin to resent where that path had taken her, to nowhere with no family of her own, right now the only deficit she felt was being excluded from the grief of the intimate family circle. The kids even withdrew and clung to their mother! What was that all about? Marie wondered. She arrived home with a head full of rebuttals to everything that was said to her during the funeral. Someone actually said, “You must be strong for Pam.” What the hell did that mean? What about being strong for myself? I loved Jack like a brother—like a brother! Although her counter-ego said, Really? Like a brother?
Sandra drove in with a group of people from the office. Afterward, after the farce, they were going to a diner in Brooklyn, but she couldn’t stand the thought of sitting and making small talk, rehashing the funeral or worse, talking about Jack, so she had them drop her off at the entrance to the subway.
It was hot and smelly in the train car. She drew her dress close around her legs and sat back, closing her eyes. She took deep, slow breathes of the stinky air, forcing her shoulders and back to relax. Pictures went through her head: moments in time, fleeting glimpses of Pam, Jack’s children, Jack lying in the casket. Pam stood like a statue, barely moving her facial muscles, hands clenched at her sides. When approached by a guest, Sandra watched her go through the exact same motions for each one. She raised her hands, grasped the forearms of the well-wisher, and forced a modicum of a smile onto her face. Sandra could almost read her lips from across the room, “Thank you so much for coming; it would have meant so much to Jack.” When it had been her turn to go through the receiving line, Pam grabbed her like an old friend, tears coming to her eyes. “Oh, thank you so much. Thank you so much. It’s so sad, so sad.” She could smell Pam’s perfume, a light, floral scent. Sandra could hardly control her grief at that point and didn’t look down at Jack; it would have been too difficult to stay calm.
Now she regretted not looking at him. The last time she had seen him was in the hospital. The others had remarked how good he looked. No one included her in the conversation, a fact she would be grateful for. No one mentioned anything about them being together or acted like they knew. Perhaps that secret had been maintained after all.
She had to change trains.
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