Open Water (20 page)

“What is it?” she said.

Willis rubbed the heel of his hand against the white clapboards. Then Holly saw the writing. Someone had spray-painted the side of her house. The metallic paint swirled in two-foot-high script.

Two silver words: “Size Queen.”

The eerie pronouncement was repeated five times across the width of the house. Each letter
S
was meticulous,
like a dollar sign. The sizeable
Q
had a slight flourish, its silver tail curled once around like a piglet’s.

She pushed past Willis and went inside her house. He came after her and waited for her to scrub the palm of her hand over her face at the kitchen tap. The smell of burning wax clung to her. “Who would do that?” she asked. “Would Fritz do that? Is Fritz jealous?”

“Fritz would never do that.”

“Are you sure?”

“He wouldn’t do it. Fritz is an extension of me—”

“God, that’s weird. That’s what I mean. That’s sick,” she said.

“You’re not listening. Fritz doesn’t destroy property.”

“And I do? I destroy property, right? Fuck you.”

“Not what I’m saying.”

“Well—”

“Your old man? Mr. Softee.”

“I told you, it’s
Carvel.
Not Mr. Softee. And Jensen’s in India. He’s on the other side of the world,” she said.

“How do you know? How do you know what side of the world he’s on now? You can’t be sure. Where is that fuck-head? At this very minute?”

The idea disturbed Holly and she let Willis walk her into the bedroom and tip her onto the bed. He unfastened her layers of clothing. He promised that he would paint the clapboards. “At daybreak.”

“Before people can see it,” she said.

“Rennie’s got a gallon of white-white in the shack. I’ll roll it on thick as you want. I’ll roll it until you tell me to stop—”

She was going along with him. He was making her laugh. He was saying the words out loud. The two silver words. He whispered the words against her ear.

“It’s true,” she said. “It’s true, it’s true, it’s true.”

R
ennie asked Holly to go with her to visit Château-sur-Mer. Holly had the afternoon free until four o’clock when she had to report to work. She had not seen Willis for a full week. After Willis had painted the side of her house, he disappeared, as if he, too, was shamed by the vandal’s assumption. Holly wanted to show him that in the full sunlight the silver lettering bled through the layer of new paint. Holly agreed to accompany Rennie to the retirement community where they would meet Munro and have lunch. Lunch was a sales campaign and Rennie said that she didn’t trust that all the meals would be as good.

Rennie told Holly, “Munro thinks I haven’t paid attention to him. If I go there to look it over, I can make an educated decision against it. It looks better on paper if you log in the research and catalogue your protests. I will have made a legitimate survey of the place.”

“They might make you sign something.”

“I have to play their game.”

“But once you’re a player—”

“I’m a rat running through a maze, but I’m not coming out where they want me to come out.”

Holly said, “Right, we’ll go into the forest but we’ll drop bread crumbs.”

Holly saw she wasn’t helping. Rennie was a nervous wreck. She walked across to Holly’s place two times as she was dressing. “Should I wear my good clothes? Good clothes will prove I can still take care of myself, but I don’t want to get gussied up. I don’t want to be another satin doll at the doll museum. On the other hand, if I look drab, Munro will say that I’m losing interest in life, like someone who never gets out of her housedress.”

Holly went next door and helped Rennie choose a nice wool jersey dress. She poked through Rennie’s jewelry tray and found a necklace and brooch to soften the neckline. Rennie, still in her slip, sat on the edge of her bed. She let herself fall back on the mattress, her hands at her sides. “I can’t stand charades,” she said.

Holly said, “Just be yourself.”

Rennie said, “You know that saying ‘What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger’?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, that used to be true for me. I took my knocks. I developed a thick skin, but too much is too much,” Rennie said.

Holly couldn’t keep a serene distance; she fell back on the bed beside the older woman. Together they stared at the ceiling. Holly followed the crown molding as it turned the corner. Her fingers slid over the quilt and she squeezed Rennie’s hand. Holly thought that Rennie’s decision to visit the retirement center might indicate a little change of heart. Rennie didn’t have the stamina she had appeared to have that first night when she burned up the floor plans. There were occasional days when Holly didn’t see Rennie around the house at all, she must have been in her bed. Rennie seemed aware of the fact that she
looked
sick and tried to erase the notion with a fancy swear about the
weather or a lighthearted spray of ridicule against Munro.

Rennie said, “I guess they’re ready to ladle it out over there, we better be first in line. First served, first to finish, first excused.”

“It’s good to be on time where you’re getting a tooth pulled. No sense postponing it,” Holly told her.

Rennie finished dressing. Holly saw a little book on Rennie’s night table. It was an old autograph book with a suede cover. Holly flipped it open and read some handwriting in a scratchy fountain pen. “Open the Gate! Open the Gate! Here comes Rennie, the Grad-u-ate.” The fountain-pen ink was faded to a pale violet. She turned another page. “Do not throw rock at mouse and break precious vase.”

Holly kept reading with fascination. She found a singsong stanza excerpted from a poem:

Rennie saw what Holly was reading and she snatched the little book out of her hand. “Do you mind? Don’t you think I’ve got a secret or two?”

“Sure,” Holly said. “Sorry.” Holly recognized what Rennie was doing with that little book. She was just trying to hold on to everything. Just hold on to the threads.

On the drive over to Château-sur-Mer, Holly mentioned to Rennie that she had not seen Willis’s car. Was it in the shop?

Rennie said, “Since when are you interested in cars?”

Holly said, “Shit.”

“Willis has been doing a full shift at WASTEC. He’s spending nights out on the
Tercel
with Carl Smith. Then, there’s Debbie. Debbie takes up a lot of his time.” Rennie wrinkled her nose; she kept her eyebrows arched, her cheeks puffed out, waiting for Holly to suffer a fit of pique. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Holly said. She wasn’t going to take the bait.

“As if he needs
three
mothers,” Rennie said.

“Which three mothers?”

“Me, Wydette, and, if the shoe fits—”

“Ready for lunch?” Holly changed the subject.

“If it’s lobster Newburg, watch out. The cream sauce in these places is like library paste. It coats your throat for a week. Lobster should be served whole with all its whiskers.”

“It won’t be Newburg, will it?” Holly said, relieved the conversation had turned.

The driveway into Château-sur-Mer was neatly landscaped, the sidewalks edged meticulously in the precise way private mental hospitals keep their emerald lawns perfected, but there was always someone crying in a corner, someone sitting alone on a glider wringing her hands.

They met Munro at the sales office at Château-sur-Mer. He stood in a large foyer at the entrance to the main wing of the old mansion. The door was framed by full-length stained glass panels and the light streamed in, washing fruity colors over Munro’s pinstripe suit. Munro was very solicitous of Holly, taking her coat off, supporting her sleeve as she withdrew her arm. He let her elbow ride over the tips of his fingers as he tugged her sleeve. He apologized to Holly for the recent behavior of his stepbrother. “He makes himself a pest, but don’t worry. He’s harmless.”

Rennie said, “When that cast comes off—”

“He’ll never have full use of that arm,” Munro said. He turned to Holly. “I broke my collarbone when I was a kid. Fell off the monkey bars. I still have a knot right here.” He tapped his finger against his lapel. Holly noticed his pinkie finger. A thick gold band set with a flat diamond the circumference of a thumbtack. She saw his expensive clothes; his suit wasn’t off the rack. He looked ready to operate in some cutthroat executive exchange.

Inside the lavish administration building, there were several large urns of long-stemmed roses. The double-headed roses were oversized and dewy. Holly never saw so many roses. It was like the dressing room of a diva on opening night. Munro plucked two roses from the arrangement and offered one to his mother; he turned and gave the other rose to Holly, first passing the bud beneath her nostrils. He commanded her to inhale its fragrance. Holly sniffed the rose obediently before she could stop herself. Munro was patronizing her, plain and simple, but she couldn’t ward it off. He was one step ahead of her, enjoying it.

A receptionist in a tight lavender sweater-dress announced their arrival. Holly watched Munro follow the woman’s curves in a quick appraisal. The assistant director stood up from a deep mahogany table to greet them. “Dick Snyder,” he said. It had a slimy ring. He shook Holly’s hand, mistaking her for Rennie’s daughter.

“Oh, I’m not her daughter,” Holly said.

“You’re not the daughter?” Dick Snyder said. He squinted at Holly for a fraction of a second, as if to rethread a needle.

After that, he made efforts to address her in conversation although he had dismissed her importance. He concentrated on Rennie and her son, seating them in mauve leather chairs
at the giant table. The conference table reminded Holly of the time she sat down with her lawyer to fill out the divorce papers. These glossy table leaves in lawyers’ offices never saw food, but Holly visualized a large family at the archetypal dinner table, its initial presentation, several course additions, up until some unexpected debacle.

Snyder began with a few simple statements that he believed would assure anyone. “Château-sur-Mer is a member of the American Association of Homes for the Aging—”

Rennie said. “What kind of membership is that? Does that rank up there with my Sierra Club?”

Snyder wasn’t disturbed by her remark. “Well, let’s see what you think. We’ll look at the pictures. Pictures are worth a thousand words, isn’t that the saying?”

Rennie said, “That’s one we haven’t heard before.” She rolled her eyes.

He lifted a large, embossed photograph album from a stack. He opened the book to a full-color aerial photograph of the retirement complex. He started at the top of each laminated page and pushed his index finger down the margin, directing their attention to every detail. He discussed the heated swimming pool, pointing to the chrome ladders; he told them about the clubhouse with two separate lounges, game rooms, exercise rooms with treadmills and Stairmasters. The pavilion, the sunken theater, the library rooms with overstuffed chairs and hassocks so residents could elevate their feet while reading. “For important circulation,” he said.

“Library circulation?” Rennie said.

Snyder lifted his face and grinned in her direction.

“Remember that for your next customer,” Rennie told him.

The outdoor recreational facilities included tennis courts, grass and clay. Two boccie courts. Horseshoe courts.
Croquet court. “Croquet is getting to be a favorite, we might expand it to the side lawn—”

“What about shuffleboard?” Rennie asked.

He looked at her, trying to gauge her level of resentment. She might have had a serious interest in shuffleboard, but he already knew she was getting prickly.

Rennie stared down at the plastic-coated pages.

Holly understood the sales pitch. It was the same when you went to buy a car, the salesmen relied on the literature. Even preachers who know the word of the Lord, backward and forward, carry their leather-bound copies. If it’s in writing, it increases in dimension.