Is this what happens?”
“When Syl died, I stared off into space so much that I decided to do something about the farm. It shouldn’t go to seed ’cause some old farmer couldn’t think straight.”
“But she was your wife!”
“She was my friend, too. It’s hard to lose a friend.” He reached up into the cupboard and pulled down two mugs. “You want to wait a little while on the ice cream?”
“Please. But you go ahead.”
“I’ll wait a while, too. Come sit on the couch by me, let me see if I can loosen up your shoulders and neck muscles a little bit. I wish I’d known this Gabby,” he said. “She must have been a wonderful person.”
“She was fifty.”
“Eww, Lord. Just a girl,” he said.
They sat on the sofa together in Elly’s stuffy little house—she’d lived alone in it for thirty years—turned sideways some so Ben could rub her shoulders. Elly continued the stories she had been telling him about Gabby since she’d died. She had already covered her marriage and divorce from Dr. Don, her travels, her affair with a Pulitzer prize-winning photojournalist, herbrief but terrifying illness, various problems with her kids. Tonight she went way back, to Gabby’s childhood.
“Gabby’s mother, Ceola, is now married for the seventh or eighth time, I’ve forgotten which. When Gabby was born, Ceola had left her young husband, Gabby’s father, and moved home with her own mother. Before Gabby was a year old, Ceola had found herself a new husband, but he wasn’t interested in having children. He was a sax player in a dance band that traveled. So, Ceola left Gabby behind and went off with him. Then she was back a couple of years later—the sax man was a rover. Then along came another husband and again Ceola left. This went on until Ceola married for the fourth time, this time to a stable man who wanted Gabby to live with them. Gabby was twelve by then, and living with her mother for the very first time—except for those visits. Ceola always said that one was her favorite husband.
“According to Gabby, Ceola was always beautiful. She’s still a good-looking woman at seventy-two—a bit hunched, somewhat slower. She had flaming-red hair and bright green eyes, long, enamel nails, lots of makeup, lots of jewelry and an extensive wardrobe. But she was always fragile, Gabby said. When she did go live with her mother, she ended up taking care of Ceola. Then Gabby’s stepfather died, the day before Gabby’s sixteenth birthday—the same date as Gabby’s own death. Gabby said Ceola nearly died herself, she was so depressed. Gabby would have to hurry home from school to make sure Ceola was out of bed, had something to eat, had bathed and primped a little so she’d feel better.
“Gabby always called her Ceola, from the earliest time she could remember. It didn’t offend her mother.When Gabby was seventeen and Ceola found another man, she lied to him and told him Gabby was her younger sister, orphaned and in her care. Gabby said she thought it was hilarious. The only problem was, by that time Gabby’s grandmother had died and Gabby had to stay with her mother. When she did go to college, Gabby’s stepfather—or brother-in-law, as he thought he was—took on the expenses so that Gabby could live away from home. And she almost never went back. Ceola would make excuses about how busy they were.
“One Christmas, Ceola and her husband went to the Caribbean without her. They forgot to mention it to Gabby until the last minute. The dorm was closing up for the winter break and Gabby had to go somewhere. She finally went home with a friend for the whole month. She said it was the most humiliating thing she’d ever endured. From that point on she made sure that Ceola gave her an allowance that would afford an apartment. She wasn’t ever going to have to admit that her own mother cared so little about her that she’d make plans for Christmas that didn’t include her.”
Ben made a tsking sound.
“When Syl died, I stared off into space so much that I decided to do something about the farm. It shouldn’t go to seed ’cause some old farmer couldn’t think straight.”
“But she was your wife!”
“She was my friend, too. It’s hard to lose a friend.” He reached up into the cupboard and pulled down two mugs. “You want to wait a little while on the ice cream?”
“Please. But you go ahead.”
“I’ll wait a while, too. Come sit on the couch by me, let me see if I can loosen up your shoulders and neck muscles a little bit. I wish I’d known this Gabby,” he said. “She must have been a wonderful person.”
“She was fifty.”
“Eww, Lord. Just a girl,” he said.
They sat on the sofa together in Elly’s stuffy little house—she’d lived alone in it for thirty years—turned sideways some so Ben could rub her shoulders. Elly continued the stories she had been telling him about Gabby since she’d died. She had already covered her marriage and divorce from Dr. Don, her travels, her affair with a Pulitzer prize-winning photojournalist, herbrief but terrifying illness, various problems with her kids. Tonight she went way back, to Gabby’s childhood.
“Gabby’s mother, Ceola, is now married for the seventh or eighth time, I’ve forgotten which. When Gabby was born, Ceola had left her young husband, Gabby’s father, and moved home with her own mother. Before Gabby was a year old, Ceola had found herself a new husband, but he wasn’t interested in having children. He was a sax player in a dance band that traveled. So, Ceola left Gabby behind and went off with him. Then she was back a couple of years later—the sax man was a rover. Then along came another husband and again Ceola left. This went on until Ceola married for the fourth time, this time to a stable man who wanted Gabby to live with them. Gabby was twelve by then, and living with her mother for the very first time—except for those visits. Ceola always said that one was her favorite husband.
“According to Gabby, Ceola was always beautiful. She’s still a good-looking woman at seventy-two—a bit hunched, somewhat slower. She had flaming-red hair and bright green eyes, long, enamel nails, lots of makeup, lots of jewelry and an extensive wardrobe. But she was always fragile, Gabby said. When she did go live with her mother, she ended up taking care of Ceola. Then Gabby’s stepfather died, the day before Gabby’s sixteenth birthday—the same date as Gabby’s own death. Gabby said Ceola nearly died herself, she was so depressed. Gabby would have to hurry home from school to make sure Ceola was out of bed, had something to eat, had bathed and primped a little so she’d feel better.
“Gabby always called her Ceola, from the earliest time she could remember. It didn’t offend her mother.When Gabby was seventeen and Ceola found another man, she lied to him and told him Gabby was her younger sister, orphaned and in her care. Gabby said she thought it was hilarious. The only problem was, by that time Gabby’s grandmother had died and Gabby had to stay with her mother. When she did go to college, Gabby’s stepfather—or brother-in-law, as he thought he was—took on the expenses so that Gabby could live away from home. And she almost never went back. Ceola would make excuses about how busy they were.
“One Christmas, Ceola and her husband went to the Caribbean without her. They forgot to mention it to Gabby until the last minute. The dorm was closing up for the winter break and Gabby had to go somewhere. She finally went home with a friend for the whole month. She said it was the most humiliating thing she’d ever endured. From that point on she made sure that Ceola gave her an allowance that would afford an apartment. She wasn’t ever going to have to admit that her own mother cared so little about her that she’d make plans for Christmas that didn’t include her.”
Ben made a tsking sound.