Three Women at the Water's Edge (13 page)

Two hours later, Danny cried and threw up again. Daisy helped him again, gave him 7-Up again, changed his sheets again, and put him back to sleep. She found herself sobbing and cursing Paul as she stacked more sticky sheets into the pile; she found herself horrified at the amount of washing she suddenly had to do, when all she wanted to do was sleep. She checked Jenny again, then crawled into her own bed, desperately hoping no one would wake up till noon. But Danny woke her again at six, vomiting again, weakly this time. Daisy carried, soothed, cleaned, finally got him back asleep, and went back to bed.

The children woke up at eight, as if it had been a normal night. Danny was cranky and tired, and he had blue rings under his eyes, but Jenny had apparently recovered. She was full of movement and noise; she bumped and jumped against Daisy until Daisy felt seasick watching her. By now Daisy was nearly ill with the need for sleep; she blundered down the stairs and filled two bowls full of dry sweet cereal and put the children in front of
Captain Kangaroo
and told them to stay quiet until it was over. Then she went back to her bed and passed out for one sweet lost hour. At nine the phone rang, waking her.

“Daisy? This is Karen. I’m afraid I won’t be able to drive Danny to school today. Andrea is really sick with a stomach flu.”

“Oh,
no
!” Daisy said, stunned at the sound of a friendly voice. “Oh, Karen. Danny is sick, too. He was up all night.”

“Well, get ready for a busy week,” Karen said cheerfully. “This stuff is very contagious. You’ll get it, Jenny will get it, Paul will get it, if you have a dog or cat, they’ll get it.”

“Oh, God,” Daisy said, and began to cry weakly. “Karen, Jenny’s sick with bronchitis. I can’t let her get this stomach flu.”

“Well, if Danny’s got it, you can’t do anything about it,” Karen said. “Don’t worry too much, it doesn’t last too long, it’s just a forty-eight-hour thing. You can take care of the kids, and then Paul can take care of you, and then you can take care of Paul. Hey, are you crying?”

“Oh, Karen,” Daisy wailed. “I’m so tired. I haven’t slept for three nights. And Paul’s gone, he’s left, he’s living with another woman.”

After a long pause, Karen said, “Oh, Daisy. My God. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. What on earth is Paul thinking of? What’s the matter? Is he having his midlife crisis?”

Daisy burst out laughing, wiping tears from her face as she did. “Oh, Karen, Paul hasn’t even reached midlife yet, how could he be having his midlife crisis? He’s too young for a midlife crisis. This is not a crisis for him, it’s romance and freedom and falling in love. It’s divorce. I just hope Danny managed to bring the flu bug into the house before Paul left, I’d like his new sweetie to hear him when he throws up.”

“Well, Daisy, what can I do? How can I help? I can’t even come over today because of this flu thing.”

“I know, I know. It’s all right. Listen, maybe I’ll call you later. It will help just to know you’re there. I’ve got to go check on the kids now, I stuck them downstairs with cereal and
Captain Kangaroo,
and I think I forgot to give Jenny her medicine this morning. Don’t worry, I’ll be okay. I’ll call you later.”

Daisy hung up the phone, crawled out of bed, and went downstairs. She felt dizzy from three nights of interrupted sleep, but otherwise rather cheerful, simply to know she could count on talking to Karen later. The family room was a mess. Jenny hadn’t wanted her cereal, and had accidentally knocked her bowl on the floor, and little round sugar-coated balls of corn were lying everywhere. But both children were sitting placidly, hollow-eyed, against the sofa, staring at
Romper Room
. Daisy crawled about on the floor picking up the cereal. She gave Jenny her medicine and held her and forced her to drink more 7-Up. She trudged up the stairs, picked the soiled laundry up in her arms, and trudged down to the laundry room to begin washing the clothes. By the time she got back upstairs, Danny was crying again, and throwing up pathetic amounts of clear liquid. She cleaned up Danny and the mess on the family room rug, and wrapped him in a blanket, and read him stories until he fell asleep in her arms.

The doorbell rang. Daisy looked at her watch; it was ten-thirty. She was reluctant to answer the door, knowing how she must look on this bright morning in her too-small rumpled robe and nightgown, with her hair sticking out every which way. But she still put Danny down on the sofa and went to answer the door.

A prim, neatly-suited woman in her sixties stood there smiling, a large black notebook in her hand.

“Mrs. Mitchell?” she said. “I’m Corinne Wentworth. I’m with Hamilton, Hamilton and Dunne Realty. I’m sorry if I’ve caught you at a bad time, but I was in the neighborhood and thought you wouldn’t mind if I looked through the house.”

“Why? What about the house?” Daisy felt numb.

“Well, to get information for our listing sheets and our clients, of course,” Corinne Wentworth said brightly. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble selling this house; everyone wants to live on the lake.”

“This house isn’t for sale,” Daisy said.

The woman stared at her. “Why, yes it is,” she said. “Yes, indeed it is. Mr. Mitchell talked with us just this morning.”

“This house is not for sale,”
Daisy said, and she began to shake. “This house is not for sale now, and it never will be. It’s none of Mr. Mitchell’s business. I live in this house, and so do my children, both of whom are sick, and no one is going to come in this house and bother me and my children, now or ever.”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry, I’m sure,” Corinne Wentworth said, not backing off an inch. “But Mr. Mitchell spoke with me personally this morning, and he assured me—”

“THIS HOUSE IS NOT FOR SALE!” Daisy screamed. “If you try to come in this house I will kill you! Mr. Mitchell is a liar and there is no way this house can be for sale! The deed is in my name as well as Mr. Mitchell’s and my father gave me money for the down payment, and the house is not for sale and never will be, and if you ever bother me again I’ll call the police and have you arrested for harassment. Now get off my property!” Daisy slammed the door in the woman’s face, and turned the night lock firmly.

She ran to the family room: Danny was asleep and Jenny was staring docilely at a game show. The sunlight streaming in the window seemed unreasonably and harshly sane. Daisy went into the kitchen and dialed Paul’s office. When he answered she had to dig her fingernails into her shoulder to force herself not to scream at him. She was not crazy, she reminded herself,
he
was: crazy and wicked.

“Paul,” she said. “I’ve just sent away a woman who seems to think this house is for sale and that you told her so.”

“Daisy,” Paul began.

“Before you go on,” Daisy said, her voice shaking but resolute, “let me tell you that Jenny nearly died two nights ago, and everyone is sick now. Jenny has bronchitis and Danny has stomach flu. You are not going to kick us out of this house, not now, not ever.”

“Daisy,” Paul said, “I’m sorry to hear the children are sick. And I’m sorry Mrs. Wentworth bothered you. She shouldn’t have come over there this morning. She was rushing things. I mentioned that I was going to put the house on the market, and she just got overeager, I guess.”

“You are not going to put the house on the market,” Daisy said.

“Daisy, I don’t want to argue with you while everyone’s sick. You shouldn’t have to discuss this now. Why don’t we talk about it another time, when you feel better?”

“You are not going to put this house on the market. You are not going to sell this house.”

“Daisy, I need the money. I can’t possibly keep up the mortgage payments, and I need the money from the equity.”

“Most of the equity is money my father lent us,” Daisy said coldly.

“Twenty thousand of it is,” Paul replied. “The other twenty thousand is ours. Half yours, half mine. If you can figure out some way to pay your father back his twenty thousand, and some way to give me my ten thousand, and some way to keep up the god-awful mortgage payments and fuel bills, then you can keep the house. But otherwise you’ve got to sell the house, and that’s that.”

“This is our
home,
” Daisy whispered desperately.

“It’s too big for you,” Paul said. “One woman and two little children don’t need such a big house.”

“We needed a big house when you were living with us, and all you ever did was sleep here,” Daisy said. “And let me remind you that it’s going to be one woman and
three
little children. Paul, I’ve been as nice to you about all this as I could. But if you try to take the house away from me, you’re in for a lot of trouble.”

“Daisy, I don’t want to fight with you. You’ve got to be reasonable. It will end up in court anyway, and no judge will let you keep such a big house, no judge will expect me to make such payments. My God, if I make the house payments, I won’t have anything left to pay you child support and to live on myself.”

“You can’t sell this house,” Daisy repeated stubbornly.

“Daisy, you’re tired. You’re distraught. I won’t sell the house now. We’ll wait. I’m sorry that woman bothered you. Just wait, and we’ll talk about it again. Maybe early next week.”

Daisy hung up and walked away. She wandered the house in a stupor, staring at the dark oak woodwork she had oiled and polished, at the casement windows she had painted, at the ten-foot-high walls she had papered. She tried to think through the blur of fatigue that was waving inside her. The house. She realized that she had not done much reasonable thinking in the past few weeks, that she had gone around like a sleepwalker, or an accident victim in shock, not openly acknowledging the results, the irreversible changes in her life. Paul was leaving. Paul had left. He wasn’t coming back. She didn’t really
want
him back. And she leaned against the winding oak staircase and cried gently, to think that she felt more pain at losing a house than at losing her husband. It made her feel guilty to realize that. And yet it was somehow obscene that she should have to lose both, that Paul should take away from her all security, all help with the children, and now their home. She was so tired that it was like being possessed by a demon, or like being drugged, her body was pulling against her, trying to sink down to any flat surface where it could collapse. But she stumbled back into the kitchen and dialed Paul’s office again.

“Paul,” she said when he answered, “I am going to go to Vancouver next week to see my mother. Don’t get upset, it won’t cost you a cent. Mother is paying for the ticket. All you have to do is come stay with the children.”

“Oh, Daisy, don’t be foolish,” Paul said. “I can’t stay with the children—”

She interrupted him. Her voice was cold and immensely sane. “Of course you can,” she said. “In a few months you are going to live in California, leaving me to take care of three children for the rest of their lives. All I’m making you do is take care of two children for one week. It won’t kill you. Danny’s in preschool every afternoon. I can give you names and phone numbers for lots of sitters. All you have to do is give them dinner, and spend the night here with them, and give them breakfast and get them dressed. That’s not much. And you can ask Monica to help. If you’re living with her, if she’s got the fun of you, well she surely won’t mind being
agreeable
to the children as you said she would.”

“Daisy,” Paul began. “This is absurd. I can’t—”

“Paul,” Daisy said, “next Monday I’m flying to Vancouver, and I’m leaving this house with two children,
your
children, in it. You have to be responsible for your children for one week in your life, and it won’t kill you. If you don’t come take care of the children, they’ll just have to sit alone in the house for a week and starve to death or electrocute themselves, and it will all be on
your
head, because I’m going to Vancouver. Think of it financially, Paul. While I’m there I’m going to see if I can get some money from Mother so I can keep the house. Think of it that way.”

“All right, all right,” Paul said, his voice dark with irritation. “All right. But you line up the sitters for me for next week, will you? Someone to take care of the kids in the day. I’ll take care of them at night, but I’ve got to work in the day, you know.”

Daisy hung up the phone again, and then, before the momentum could leave her, called a travel agency to have them make reservations for her to fly to Vancouver. She called babysitters and arranged for them to come. Later when she called Karen she would ask her to check in on the children. And suddenly it was all done, it was all arranged. If she had stopped to consider it before doing it, she would have thought it impossible, to leave her two small children for a week. She had never left them for more than five hours at a time before.

She went back into the family room. Now both children had sagged into sleep, lying sprawled on the sofa, snoringly content. It made Daisy nearly retch to see the family room; every toy and book and crayon and doll had been taken out of its proper place and scattered across the floor during the past few days. Little violet and orange and red and black and green circles of flat plastic from Danny’s Winnie-the-Pooh game were scattered across the carpet like large confetti; puzzle pieces had been stacked like towers; all the dolls had been undressed and their clothes unzipped, unbuttoned, unfolded, and flung into different corners of the room; a pile of soiled towels spilled over next to the sofa. On television a clean housewife with a polka-dot scarf on her head was holding a mop in one hand and kissing her husband with what would have been taken as insane glee in a normal household. Daisy crossed the room and turned off the television. She sat down on the floor of the family room and began to sort the puzzle pieces out: Little Red Riding Hood in one pile; the Owl Family in another; the dump truck in another; and so on. She lost interest in it after a while, and after checking on the children again, went up the stairs to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

She was surprised at how old and bleak and haggard she looked. Her skin was gray. Her hair was stringy and matted. Her lips were chapped. Her eyelids drooped. She looked fifty years old, and she was only twenty-nine. The thought of the next few days ahead of her, home with sick children and no diversions except those involved in cleaning up the house, made her shudder. She couldn’t in good conscience ask a babysitter to come to the house to relieve her for a few hours, not when Danny’s stomach flu was so contagious. She would simply have to muddle through, survive the next few days by herself. Alone. Survive until she could leave on Monday, see her mother.