The Hot Flash Club Strikes Again (24 page)

Polly nodded, rose, and went into the dining room, shutting the door firmly behind her. She sat down at the dining-room table and stared at her sewing machine. On impulse, she grabbed a piece of extra fabric and sewed tidy seams in it. A weird thing to do, perhaps, but the work calmed her, it always did, and she hoped the sound of the little purring motor would assure them that she wasn’t listening in.

——————————

“Polly?” A tap came at the dining-room door and Dr. Monroe stuck his head in. “Could you join us, please?”

“Certainly.” Polly flicked off her machine.

Claudia seemed to have grown even smaller in the past half hour. Perhaps it was the way she was sinking down into the chaise.

“Would you like me to puff up the cushions behind your back?” Polly offered.

“I’d
like
you to sit down and
listen,
” Claudia retorted, as if Polly had been skipping around the room with her fingers stuck in her ears.

“Polly,” Hugh Monroe said, “Mrs. Lodge has insisted she does not want to go into a hospital, but she has agreed that she would be more comfortable with a hospital bed. The pharmacy will deliver one and set it up. A bedside commode, as well. Also, we’re going to ask Home Health Services and Hospice to get involved now. I’ll contact Martha Wright, who’s head of hospice. She’ll be here to do an initial interview, and then someone will come, at least once every day, to help Mrs. Lodge with various personal procedures.”

Polly nodded and smiled at the physician, while beneath her bosom the oddest feeling bloomed—not relief, not at all, but instead a kind of ice-cold terror.
Shit!
she thought irreverently.
A hospital bed! Once you get in a hospital bed, you don’t usually get out. I hate this!
she wanted to cry.
I’m scared!

“Polly,” Claudia said. “Find a pad of paper. You’ll need to write down these names and phone numbers and instructions.”

“Yes, Claudia.” Polly rose, although at the moment she wasn’t even certain what a pad of paper was.

27

Another Sunday had arrived, which meant another delightful meal
en famille
at the Youngs’ house. Today Beth’s culinary offering was two loaves of homemade whole-wheat bread and a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies. She’d considered bringing brownies—she had a great recipe—but even brownies would be easy to sabotage. A little vinegar drizzled over the top, or any liquid really, would sink into the chewy chocolate, making it look even moister and taste disgusting, providing Sonny’s family with another reason he should marry Robin instead of Beth. Cookies were a little more foolproof, as was the bread, wrapped in foil, ready to be heated. Beth had them tucked carefully in a book bag and had just pulled on her coat and hat, when suddenly she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Sonny, I have to ask you something.”

Sonny was buttoning his jacket. “Shoot.”

“How do you feel about Robin?”
There.
Embarrassment and terror sent her body temperature into the danger zone.

Sonny looked at Beth. “What do you mean?”

“Are you still attracted to her?”

Sonny shook his head and gently cuffed Beth on her shoulder. “You’re kidding me.”

Beth kept silent.

“Beth, come on!” Seeing that she was serious, he put both hands on her shoulders, pulling her to him. “I love you. I want to marry you.”

“And Robin?”

“Robin’s like another sister. Part of the family.”

Quietly Beth said, “She was your first love.”

Sonny rolled his eyes. “I was a
kid
then. Come on, Beth, have I ever given you any reason to think I’m attracted to her?”

Beth thought about this for a moment. “No.” In a small voice she added, “But she’s always touching you . . .”

“So’s the dog.” Sonny tilted her chin up so she had to look him in the eyes. “Robin’s a babe, I’m not denying that. She was my first girlfriend. But I don’t lust after her, and I don’t love her, although I suppose I do care for her, in pretty much the same way I care for my sister. You’re the one I love, Beth. Trust me, okay?”

“Okay.” Beth closed her eyes in relief as Sonny engulfed her in a giant hug.

——————————

“Go, Pats!”
the family roared in greeting when Sonny and Beth entered. The Sunday afternoon the family had watched the Super Bowl, Beth had thought she’d go deaf when, in the final few moments, the Patriots won, and the Young household exploded with cheering.

“Go, Pats!”
Sonny and Beth yelled back.

“You’re late!” Sonny’s brother, Mark, yelled from the refrigerator as he lifted out a handful of beers. “Dad and I got first call on the Corona, so it’s Miller Lite for you.”

“Sonny!” His sister, Suze, was opening a bottle of red wine, so she motioned to the table with a jerk of her head. “Mom’s gone mad!”

In the kitchen, pots and pans clattered, steam billowed, people yelled as they cut back and forth across the room, bumping each other like billiard balls. Every single person wore gray hoodies with the navy and red New England Patriots logo on the front. The sweatshirts had been Merle and Bobbie’s presents to their family on Christmas—and they had even given one to Beth, who had been so pleased to be included that she hadn’t pointed out that they’d given her a size large. She wore it now. It hung down to her knees and weighed heavily on her shoulders. She had to roll the sleeves up several times, and the thick bunch of fleece cuffing her wrists was a nuisance.

“What’s cookin’, Mom?” Sonny kissed his mother on her cheek. “Something smells great.”

Bobbie smiled indulgently at her oldest, favorite son, whose thick black hair, deep blue eyes, and profile were a carbon copy of hers. “I thought we’d try something a little different this Sunday and have a Mexican meal. You boys always loved tacos so much.” She set a large bowl of chopped onions on the table. “Hi, Beth. Hope you like spicy food.”

Robin was here. Of course she was here, standing at the stove, stirring a pot.
Her
sweatshirt fit as if it had been custom-tailored to accentuate the expanse of her bosom against the narrow curves of her waist.

“Scoot over,” Sonny told Robin. “I want to put this bread in the oven to heat up.”

“God, we don’t want
bread,
Sonny.” With a tilt of her slender hip, Robin nudged Sonny away. “Not with tamales, tortillas, beans.” She cooed the words in Sonny’s ear in a low, suggestive voice, as if describing sexual positions.

Beth glanced at Sonny’s mother. When Beth had phoned Bobbie on Friday, Bobbie had told her she was roasting a leg of lamb she’d gotten a good deal on at Stop & Shop, and Beth had said she’d make a loaf of homemade bread. Instead, Mexican food? Bobbie bared her teeth at Beth in a smile that would have frozen Cruella De Vil in her tracks.

Beth held her platter high. “I brought cookies for dessert.” Her voice was lost in the general commotion. The whole yelling thing she hadn’t quite managed to acquire. She set the platter at the back of the counter.

Merle hunched at the head of the table looking unhappy. “All these vegetables and beans will have me gassed up like the
Hindenburg,
” he grumbled.

“Oh, go on, you need more greens for your cholesterol,” Bobbie told him, placing a platter of tamales covered with melted cheese before him. Her husband reached out with a fork and she slapped his hand. “Hang on! Let the others at least sit down. Honestly.” She patted his head with absentminded affection as she looked around the room. “Mark? Take the burritos from the oven and put them on the hot pad here in the middle of the table. Sonny? Grab the bowls of chopped peppers and tomatoes. Suze, got the shredded cheese? Oh, and, Robin, are the beans ready?”

“Ready,” Robin called, bringing the earthenware bowl to the table.

Beth swallowed. Quickly she counted the places set at the table. Seven. Okay, so at least Bobbie hadn’t cut her completely out of the group. This was the first time Bobbie had so openly ignored Beth. Was it because she realized Beth wasn’t going to go away, that Sonny really loved her and intended to marry her? Whatever, it was becoming more and more clear that Bobbie meant war.

Everyone settled at the table, and as always conversation faded to a mutter as the food was passed around.

Beth rose.

Bobbie glanced up from her plate. “Is everything okay?”

“Sure,” Beth answered with her sweetest smile. “I just want to get a wineglass, I think I’ll have some of that merlot.” And she went right to the cupboard where the wineglasses were kept.

“We shouldn’t be drinking wine, we should be drinking tequila,” Suze told the group as she reached across the table to pour wine into Beth’s glass.

“Oh, yeah, tequila in the middle of the day, that would be
sweet,
” Mark said, laughing.

“Hey! Remember the time we all had a contest to see who could drink the most margaritas?” Robin laughed so hard her breasts bobbled beneath her sweatshirt.

“I do not,” Bobbie said emphatically.

“Oh, Mom, not you,” Sonny told her. “Of course you and Dad weren’t there. It was the year Suze turned eighteen, so she wanted to get officially drunk, so Mark and Robin and—who were you dating then, Mark? Oh, yeah, right, the delectable Kathy.”

“Please,” Suze cut in, “that Kathy was such a slut.”

“We’re at the dinner table if you don’t mind,” Merle growled.

“Anyway, we were at that dive over on Spring Street—”

“Best margaritas on the East Coast!” Mark yelled.

Even their conversation is a team sport,
Beth thought as her eyes flew from one face to the other, her own face held in an expression of fascinated interest she’d had plenty of practice achieving. Sonny’s family never asked her how her week went, what kind of work she was doing, what she was reading for her degree.

Next to her, Sonny’s father belched loudly. “Excuse me,” he said with pride.

“Robin put ground coriander in the beans,” Bobbie told them.

“What’s coriander?” Sonny asked. “I don’t think I like it.”

“You’re thinking of fennel,” Robin told him, turning to him and holding out her fork. “Just take a little taste; you’ll like it.” She leaned toward him, her beautiful face rosy from the heat of the kitchen, her gorgeous pink lips moist with grease.

But Sonny turned away from Robin and put this hand possessively on Beth’s thigh. “Have you ever used coriander in any of our meals?” He couldn’t have said more clearly,
I’m with you.

“I don’t think so.” Flushed with happiness, Beth felt charitable. “But, Robin, these beans
are
delicious.”

“Sonny,” his mother called from her end of the table, “guess who I saw last week.”

“Diga me,”
Sonny said.

“What?” Bobbie reared back a little, frowning.

Sonny translated, “That means ‘tell me’ in Spanish. Since we’re eating Mexican food and all.”

“How do you know Spanish?” Bobbie asked, flashing a quick glance at Beth, as if she were responsible.

“Mom, come on. I had it in high school. I still remember some of it.”

Bobbie rolled her eyes. “So, anyway, I saw Karen Renfro.”

“No way!” Robin cried. “I thought she’d moved to California.”

“She had, with that stupid hippie Dan or Dave or Doug or something—”

“Dimwit,” Merle interjected.

“But she left him, moved back here, and she’s getting married to—wait for it!” Bobbie was nearly choking with laughter. “Gregory Malone!”

The table exploded.

“No!” Robin screamed. “Stop! I can’t stand it!”

This must be what Princess Di felt like when she took meals with the queen and the rest of the family, Beth thought. Except Beth knew Sonny loved her. Oh, poor Princess Di, who didn’t even possess her husband’s love! And who was hungry all the time, too. It had truly stunned Beth when Princess Di’s marriage had fallen apart. For Beth, as for many women everywhere, it was like watching the shining mirror of a shimmering fairy tale that reflected all women’s lives fade into tarnished glass, then shatter. Many times Beth found herself hoping one of the two royal sons would rebel, champion his dead mother’s cause, and reject the entire family, after first giving Prince Charles a nice fat fist in the mouth—

“Beth?” Sonny nudged her. “Want some ice cream?”

“Oh! Sure! And I brought cookies.” Beth jumped up to help the others clear the table, brew the coffee, and dish out the vanilla ice cream. When she returned to her seat, she could sense a tension in Sonny simply by the way he held himself, a little more rigid and alert, as if he were about to bungee jump. Knowing what he was about to announce, Beth held her breath.

“Guess what?” he began, then stopped himself and began again. “Actually, none of you would guess this. I’ve decided something. I’m going to go back to school to get a degree in architecture.”

For the first time that day, dead silence fell over the room. His father continued to spoon ice cream into his mouth, as if he hadn’t heard a thing, but Beth caught the look that passed between Bobbie and Robin.

Undeterred by the lack of support, Sonny continued. “I took my College Level Examination tests last week and did pretty well. I’m taking College Writing Two at Bunker Hill Community College this semester, while I check out programs in the area.” He paused, waiting for any kind of reaction. When none came, he went on, “I’m thinking of the Boston Architecture College; they take transfer students, so I’d have two years credit to start with—”

“Oh, please, Sonny!” From the end of the table, Bobbie looked toward her son, an expression of gentle disappointment on her face. “Honey, you don’t need all that academic stuff! You’ve got Young’s Construction! What more could you want?”

Sonny put his elbows on the table and faced his mother. “I’m interested in design. Don’t ask me why, I just am, I always have been. I’d like to be able to design houses, oversee the entire project from the word
go,
read blueprints—”

“You want to be better than us, that’s what you mean.” Sonny’s brother, sitting across the table, shoved his chair back and crossed his arms over his chest.

Sonny turned scarlet. “Oh, stuff it up your a—”

“Sonny.” Bobbie’s warning was one low word.

“He’s right, though.” Sonny’s sister, sitting on his left, entered the fray. Her face flushed with anger, she leaned forward to point an accusing finger at Beth. “Ever since he’s been dating
her,
he suddenly thinks he’s too good for us.
We
didn’t go to college.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sonny snapped.

“I’m not being ridiculous!” Suze had her father’s coloring, but in anger her jaw worked just like Sonny’s did. “You never do things with just the family anymore. You moved out of the house—”

“Hey!” Sonny was furious. “Look. One, I
started
college, I always wanted to go to college, I wanted to be an architect, but I didn’t have the money for tuition. Two, I moved out of the house before I met Beth, remember? Three, Beth and I have eaten here every Sunday for the past few months, which some people would consider pretty unusual. It’s not like we’re the goddamned Cosa Nostra or something!”

Silence fell again, and then Robin spoke. “Well, I think it’s wonderful that Sonny’s going back to school.” The entire Young family stared at Robin, astonished. “When we were in high school, he always talked about becoming an architect—”

Bobbie looked shocked. “He never discussed it with me!” She studied her husband’s face. “Or with any of the family.”

Beth couldn’t stop staring at Robin, who was looking at Sonny with melting eyes. She was so softly beautiful, a dream woman, and when she spoke her voice was a caress. “No, I don’t suppose he did. You don’t tell your family everything when you’re a teenager. You keep your dreams private.”

Beth took a sip of wine, glad she still had a bit left in her glass. She wished it were pure vodka. Sonny had warned her to expect some kind of scene, but she hadn’t counted on Robin weaseling in like this. She couldn’t decide whether it was better to feel ignored, as she usually did during Sunday dinners, or blamed.
Blamed,
she thought, because then at least Sonny’s family admitted he shared a connection with Beth.