Back to Life (15 page)

“She’d hate it here.” He chuckles. “It’s too clean for one thing.”

“Probably, she would. Come inside. This front door is hand-hewn alder from the Sierras.” I rub my hand along it. “This wrought iron design was made especially for the door by a craftsman in Montana.”

“I thought you weren’t around when Ron built the place.”

“I’ve made a few changes since it was built. Just added a woman’s touch here and there. Ron had great taste for the most part, but colors don’t seem to be in a man’s repertoire.”

“That’s a bit sexist,” he says.

“I’m in a Bible study called the Trophy Wives Club; you think I care about PC, sexist garbage?”

He grins. “I suppose not.”

“The house beams were created to look like they were a hundred years old. This mantel is actually from a castle in Italy. It’s solid marble, and I worried that it didn’t fit in just right, but I got over it when the fireplace looked naked without it.”

“So what would you change in here for the sale?”

I scan the room. “It needs to be cleaned up.” I look at the Italian vases on the bookshelves. “That’s a distinct style. You don’t want to have in a staged house.”

“All right.” He walks around looking at the walls. “Where are all the pictures?”

“They’re in scrapbooks. Ron didn’t appreciate clutter, and I learned to like the clean look, as well.”

“That’s odd. I mean, you don’t have any on your mantel. Makes it feel like it’s already staged. There are pictures all over your condominium.”

I ignore his assessment. “We’ll need to take out the extra furniture or rearrange to make the best possible flow. We could put a seating area over here.” I point to the corner. “And then keep this furniture to surround the fireplace as a focal point. We’d need to pull all these books off the shelves and add some pottery or stoneware that would go with the decor but isn’t too distinct, like what’s in there now. With these clean, off-white walls, we want to keep the beachy lightness.”

“The beachy lightness? Right.” He fights a laugh. “I don’t have the stomach for this.”

“You’re making fun.”

“I’m not, but I would never buy a mansion and I know why. Even if I had the money, I couldn’t make it through the sales pitch.” He stares at the fireplace. “This place is incredibly romantic. What woman wouldn’t fall in love with a guy in this house? It’s impossible not to feel like James Bond here.”

I nod. “It has an air about it, it’s as though God kissed it with His grace. Ron’s drinking made being here hard sometimes, and I moved out of it to find some peace when alcohol took over. Still, nothing deters me from the serenity that this house brings. It’s like the red dirt of Tara for me. I feel home.”

“The what?”

“You know how Scarlett O’Hara wants to go home to the red dirt of Tara in
Gone with the Wind
?”

“I saw it in Spanish; it’s translated differently.”

We laugh, and I sink into my cream-linen sofa, tucking my feet beneath me. I stare at the fireplace. “I can hardly believe I possessed that fireplace at one time. Can you imagine the lives lived in front of it?” I pick up the remote control and start the fire. I sigh. “The sunsets are magnificent here. I think we should stay so I can word the marketing brochures correctly.”

“I’m sure the realtors will handle that.”

“The realtors don’t love this home. I do, and I’m convinced I can write the copy better than they can.”

“I have a hard time believing you want to sell this house, Lindsay. Why’d you move?”

“I’m wondering the same thing right now. I guess, unlike you, Ronnie, I do need a lot to survive. That’s not a great thing to learn
about yourself. Giving up this house was the first step to being a better person.”

“No one needs this much.” He sits down on the sofa beside me.

“It’s true. It’s mythology that the world can’t touch you here. It feels like it, doesn’t it? Like you’re free of fear and turmoil, but it eventually gets in and undermines the idea of perfection. There’s no such thing as perfection.”

“An afternoon of
futbol
, my mother’s tamales with good friends, and the neighbor’s flan for dessert. That is as close to perfection as you’re going to get here on earth.”

As the sun begins to set, I jump up from the sofa. “Oh I forgot the best part. You have to see the bathtub. It’s the perfect time.” I pull him into the master bedroom, and sigh at the sight of my beloved. “It’s my favorite place to be. This tub at sunset. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a bath at sunset? Husbands want dinner, guests arrive for cocktails, business associates have meetings—it’s wholly inconvenient to bathe at sunset, which is why it’s the most coveted time.”

“It seems like you were born to live in this house.” He says it as though he feels sorry for me.

“That’s how I felt the first time I came here. I was engaged to another man. The contractor, actually. One of them.”

“So then you fell in love with my father? Or this house?”

“It was a bit of both. When your mother doesn’t grocery shop or come home at night, a house like this makes you feel like this is a person who would never let you go hungry. I’d say my affections were pretty tied up in my fears.”

Ronnie nods as he lets his eyes take in my image. I wonder if he hears my tale as just a lie to win his sympathy. Lord knows I wasn’t above using them in the past.

“So the bathtub.” I point to my pièce de résistance. “The Italian tile on the wall is like having my very own Sistine Chapel. Oh, we’ll have to take the chandelier down. They’re illegal over tubs—did you know that? At least that’s what the builder told me. We had to wait until the inspection was over to put it in.”

“If the builder was your former fiancé, I’d say you were lucky he put it up solidly.” Ron stares at the light. He’s got about a week’s growth on his face, and the rugged appearance against the soft green of his eyes is mesmerizing, especially under the fading sun. It’s been a long time since I noticed a man, but I quickly remind myself just how off-limits this one is.

“I suppose you’re right. I never thought of that.” He catches me staring at him. “So, I am thinking of having the shower in the evening, out on the patio, and coming into the family room for gifts. Then, I’ll take care of getting the house staged, and you should be set.”

“Oh.” Ronnie shakes his head. “The wedding shower. My mind was on the bathtub, so I thought we were still discussing cleanliness and you had an outdoor shower on the patio.”

We avoid looking at each other when he says this and I find my jokes at Jane’s expense about the chaperone to be slightly less funny than I found them earlier.

He changes the subject and I’m grateful. “I have a lot of questions about Ron. My mother won’t answer them.”

“I won’t either, Ronnie. It’s not my place. He left you this house, I think that shows you how he felt about you. Why didn’t you call when he was alive?”

“I didn’t want to hurt my mother.”

I nod. “What do you think your girlfriend will say about the house?”

“She broke up with me. I called her my girlfriend earlier, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry.” I stammer for the right words, but instead I blurt, “Why?”

“How would I know?” He brushes his arm. “I mean, I sure can’t see it. I’m a fabulous catch.” He holds his arms out and smiles.

“Well, what did she say?”

“You’re not going to let this go. You want the gory details on how I got dumped.”

“At least there’s enough of a social life to get dumped. I’m getting text messages from the only man in my church singles’ group, and he doesn’t have a chin.”

“You would dump a man simply because he didn’t have a chin? That’s cold.”

“You forgot shallow. It’s shallow, too,” I remind him.

“Kipling said my family being broken apart, and my late age without marriage was a warning sign to her father and he didn’t approve of me as a proper choice. He said my family history didn’t speak well for my commitment ability.”

“Thirty-six isn’t that old in California. It’s the new eighteen. Isn’t that what they say?”

“They should say that. They’re an old-fashioned family. She was home-schooled through college, and her father’s probably right. It’s not many fathers who want to see their daughter married off to a California schoolteacher who sends half his paychecks to Mexico. I don’t exactly have ‘Trump’ written in my future. It wasn’t serious.” He shrugs.

Ronnie doesn’t seem like a man who gives his heart easily, and he certainly doesn’t seem like the type who can’t commit. He’s committed to making no money while he does what he’s passionate about. “Just tell her father he needs a higher dowry, that’s all. Is she a one-cow wife or a ten-cow?”

He laughs. “She’s a ten-cow wife. Just not my ten-cow wife.”

“I wonder if this house would have made a difference. This has to be worth a thousand cows easily, don’t you think?”

“If it would have, then she definitely wasn’t right for me. I need the thousand-cow wife who can live on the one-goat salary.”

“True. I wonder what her father would say about me? I made my own mistakes; I can’t blame them on genetics. You either buy into the grace thing, or you don’t. So, I have deemed her completely unworthy of you and her father a very bad judge of character.”

“What about your parents? Are they still alive?”

“They are, but I’m dead to them, unfortunately. I don’t know my father. We have that much in common, and when I married Ron, that was the end of my mother and me. She married several times before I left. She’s probably found herself eight more husbands since then. I’m not sure I can even find her. Every time I plan to go back and try one more time, something always seems to come up and another Christmas passes. I have to be willing to accept whatever happens when I see her, and I’m not there yet.”

“I see the children in my classes and I couldn’t stand to abandon them. How can parents do this?”

“I guess that’s why we both found God, huh? He’ll never leave or forsake us. Though I have to remind myself of that more often than I’d like.”

We walk back out to the family room, where a gas-induced fire roars under the antique mantel. The sun is starting to set in the canyon and the pink dusk light illuminates the room.

“He’ll leave the ninety-nine to go after the one. That’s my favorite.”

“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.”

“He raises the poor from the dust—”

I smell the sweetness of Ronnie’s soul, the purity with which he speaks, and my heart is moved to places it has not dared to visit since Ron had gone. We look directly into each other’s eyes and
both of us recognize what we see there. A connection that simply cannot be. A reading of each other’s heart all in the split second of our eyes meeting.

Ronnie’s warm voice and the promises of God remind me,
I’m alive. I’m still here, and I’m good enough
. We sit across from the fire, not looking at each other for our own protection, but without feeling the action, I snuggle into Ronnie’s shoulder. Sitting silently, we’re each in our own thoughts, and notably thankful that we can get away from the troubles of the outside world, if only for a moment. Both of us know, the minute we move, our time is up. Reality sets in and deals us yet another blow. But for now, we are silent in the warmth and peace that surrounds us.

Jane

B
ette Taylor is about my age, but she’s much younger in appearance. She’s kept up with the facials, and the creams and all the goodies that keep a woman in high style. Her teeth, though not neon as many people’s are, boast a brightness that cannot be natural. At times I wonder, if I’d married easily to a more common man, if my life would have turned out like hers, with some of the shine still left on me.

“I have the perfect restaurant for dinner,” she says. “Not one of these loud places the kids always want to go to. Nothing makes me feel my age quicker than going into a loud restaurant. Doesn’t anyone appreciate the fine art of conversation anymore? Where you’re not screaming over a guitar solo?” She looks at me briefly. “I’m feeling my age again, Jane. This generation does everything
quickly and loudly. I’m at the mall the other day and there’s a ‘brow bar.’ To get your eyebrows shaped inside the makeup department. Right by the door where everyone is coming and going, can you imagine? There is no feminine mystique left. Remember how we were taught not to have our Mary Janes so polished a boy could see up our dresses?”

I nod.

“Now they wear their underwear instead of clothes. No need for boys to peek any longer.”

She’s impossible to dislike. Sweet-natured with beautiful, warm eyes that interact with you when she speaks and an enthusiastic, contagious smile. Like a magnet, she draws people to her affectionate nature. There are not enough people like her any longer. Even I find myself drawn to her. I like her, despite my instincts to
not
do so. It’s not in my nature to endure the Bible-thumping sorts patiently. Imagine me…with a Bible study leader for an evening out on the town. Wouldn’t Davis have a good time with this one?

“You have something that generation needs, and you love them and you know it. I’ve seen you with those women, remember?”

“Oh, well, those women—how could you not love them? They’ve all made mistakes, but they’re repentant and trying to better their lives. That zeal is joyous to be around. Energizing, I would say.”

“It’s a two-sided sword. The young make you feel young, and they make you feel old.”

“I feel old as dirt though, Jane. Glad to be here, but old nonetheless. Have you ever seen the show,
The Real World
?”

“I haven’t, no.”

“My niece had it on when she spent the summer. I about had a coronary. I turned it off, but after she was out of distance, I turned it back on just to see if I was hearing correctly. It’s young men and
women, thrust into a house together. Then they try to have sex, they talk about sex, they have one-night stands and discuss the sex afterward. It breaks my heart. It really does.”

I try to change the subject to lighter fare. “Remember when Lucy and Ricky couldn’t say ‘pregnant’ on television?” I laugh, but Bette shakes her head some more. It’s clear she’s really upset, and I don’t know—there were loose girls when we were young, too. I may even have been one of them, by Bette’s standards.

“But you know, it’s in God’s hands. I can only do what I can do. I have my Trophy Wives, and they keep me going. I’ve asked Lindsay to take over leadership when I get married. Did she tell you?”

“No, she didn’t tell me. It’s sometimes a bit strained with us. We’re just so different.” This wasn’t really true, but it felt true. Lindsay and I, we were more alike than I care to admit, but we have to work so hard at relationship, it makes us feel worlds apart. Each of us reading something that isn’t there from the other.

“Strained with Lindsay? I can’t imagine. That girl is one surprise after another, but she’s forthright, if she’s anything. Even when her humiliation is plain to see, she is straightforward and the first to repent.” She looks down at her lap briefly. “Well, usually.”

“We were married to the same man. I imagine that makes things strained by their very nature, wouldn’t you admit?” I am not in the mood to hear Lindsay’s wonderful traits recounted to me. She does have this natural spark of energy, and I do not want to hear about it while she’s with my son. Ron Jr. is so trusting, and he needs a woman who sees the world as innocently as he does. “It was so nice of you to come, but I would have been fine. As soon as I got some juice in me, I was okay.” I tell her, humiliated by the entire scene. “I’m easily sidetracked, and I forget to eat. This has happened before. It’s just a gentle reminder to take better care of myself.”

“It’s no work for me to be here, Jane. It’s a gift, and I’m grateful
for the time. With you, I doubt I have to be aware of what Justin Timberlake is up to. You’re a fascinating personality. A real artist. I’ve never met one before.” The way she says it, as though I’m Van Gogh himself…well, not that I liked to be fawned over, but who doesn’t like to be fawned over? At least slightly?

“It’s time to go home, that’s all. Ron left my son the house in Pacific Palisades—”

“Yes, Lindsay told me. She was sorry he wouldn’t be keeping it in the family though. She does love that house. We had many a nice Christmas tea there.”

“Why didn’t she keep it? Do you know?” I ask, wondering if I might finally have the answer. “You’re not the first person to mention how much she loved the house.”

“It’s not really my place to say, but I know she’s happy with the decision.”

That’s another thing I don’t get about Lindsay’s religion. Everyone’s above idle gossip—and I find that hard to believe. Maybe it’s just Bette, and she’s learned it’s wise to keep her trap shut. In my town, we know what’s going on in everyone’s house. I feel eased out here.

“Ron Jr. will appreciate the money. He keeps a few schools running back home in Mexico. Buys them books and supplies each year, so I know they’ll be thrilled to have more. He can probably buy decades of education now, as well as a house for himself. He says this year, every child will get a backpack and a new pair of shoes.”

“Yes, Lindsay has spoken very highly of your son. It seems as though you’ve raised a gem.”

“Lindsay’s being kind. She hasn’t spent that much time with my son, so she wouldn’t really know.” I hope to ward off any encouragement anyone might give to Lindsay about my son. “Yes, he is
a gem, but I got lucky. I can’t really take credit. He was gentle-spirited from the start. Nothing like his mother.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She pats my hand. “I’m so glad you’re here. Every once in a while, it’s important to be around women our own age, so we know that we’re not completely out to pasture yet.”

“I agree. I’d love to return this favor when you’re married. Perhaps you and your husband could come visit Davis and me in Campeche.” Davis’s name rolls off my tongue before I remember he may not be there when I return. The woman who answered my phone may be packing his navy blue suitcase as I speak.

“Davis?”

I’m not up for the explanation of living in sin. I’m fifty-three years old, and don’t believe in such rules. I’ve earned the right to do as I please. “You’ll have to visit
me
in Campeche when you’re married. You’ll see that the same things are not valued in my country as yours. L.A. would depress anyone about the natural state of aging.”

“The same things aren’t valued five miles out of the thirty-mile-zone. That’s the zone they say holds Hollywood and has the most impact on the world. Frightening, isn’t it? Considering what goes on in that area.”

“Horrifying.” I try to avoid thinking about the woman who answered my phone. If Davis were leaving, I have a hard time with the fact he’d bring another woman into my house.
Just leave already.
Don’t taunt me, and employ my house as your own personal bachelor pad. I feel rage welling up within me, and I know it will consume me if I allow it, so I focus on the lovely people walking along the street. “What city is this?” I ask Bette, as there are a million little cities in L.A., all chained together like a tightly strung strand of pearls.

“Santa Monica. It’s still a posh neighborhood, but there’s a crepe place you’ll love. Do you like crepes?”

“They’re fattening and taste divine—what’s not to like?” But I do hope she won’t be offended when I have something without pastry in it. My diabetes has taken a licking since I’ve been here. Davis used to ensure that I ate several times a day. The thought makes me smile that, at my age and experience, I would still require such ridiculous coddling in such a basic area.

“See, right there. That’s something you don’t get with the younger folks. They’re counting their calories all the time so they can drink with dinner. If I’m going to pack on the calories, I want some substance and chocolate in mine.”

“Chocolate. There’s something I miss since being diagnosed. I always wondered why I could get fat saying the word.”

Bette pulls the car to the side of the road, amid a few honks as cars swerve around us. If they weren’t right on our rear, there would have been no trouble. “I completely forgot about diabetic eating. Here I am, taking you to carb central for dinner. Well, I’m turning around the car, and we’re going somewhere else.” She presses the gas pedal to the metal and the next thing I know, we’re streaming along PCH with the Pacific to our left. “Oh, I have an idea.” She takes a turn, and we zoom toward the hills. I will never get used to L.A. driving. Soon, we’re climbing the hill with the dark, vast ocean behind us. “This is where Ron Jr.’s house is. The one he inherited.”

“We’re not going in, are we?” I panic. Lindsay will think I’m stalking her.

“Heavens, no. It’s behind a great gate, but I thought you’d want to know where it was. I’m sure he’ll take you before it gets sold. It’s quite a beautiful home.”

“Of course, he’ll take me. They’re planning Lindsay’s friend’s wedding shower and how to move the furniture to sell it. In Mexico, we usually just buy the furniture that’s already there. No one cares enough to move things.” I laugh at the concept.

We drive until we’re nearly at the top of the hill, and she points to a great, iron gate. “That’s it.” She pulls to the side of the road and a car goes whizzing past us, as though waiting for the opportunity.

Naturally, I can’t see a thing but the gate, and I’m disappointed. “I can’t see the house.”

“It’s beautiful. A lovely Mediterranean with Spanish and Italian details. It doesn’t have an ocean view, but the grounds are beautiful and there is a view of the vast canyon behind it. It’s like being in Tuscany, right here in Pacific Palisades.”

“I wouldn’t think that type of thing would impress you, Bette.”

“Oh, a show of money doesn’t impress me. It’s the warmth in the house. It’s not like these cookie-cutter mansions that everyone builds to impress others. It’s someone’s home. Even without the Pacific view, I’ll bet it will go really quickly.” She touches her chin. “Well, perhaps not. People like to impress others here, so maybe the warmth won’t make a difference. It does to me, but I’m not purchasing multimillion dollar homes. Not anymore.”

“Your husband was wealthy when he was alive?”

She nods. “In the worldly sense. I did what Lindsay did all those years ago. Only I had two kids to manage, and I didn’t enjoy throwing soirées as Lindsay does. That girl can order up a catered affair in two seconds flat. She’s got everyone who matters on speed dial. Me? I’d serve anyone meatloaf. An executive’s wife is expected to have better taste. I learned eventually, but the heart got him before he had a chance to appreciate it.”

“I thought I’d be a good wife like that. I dated the boy in high school who everyone wanted to date. Captain of the football team, member of Future Business Leaders, he drove a ’57 T-bird when the rest of the kids had jalopies.”

We drive into a small, expensive-looking village of quaint boutiques and restaurants. Bette waits forever while a car backs out
and the traffic collects behind us. Although there is a great deal of honking, she is completely at peace, not missing a bit of the conversation.

We enter the restaurant, which is little more than a casual café with diner-style tables and French coffee prints in grand frames along the walls.

“So is Mr. T-bird Ronnie’s father, then?”

“Oh, you know about that.”

“I’m afraid I do. It was troubling to Lindsay, you understand, that Ron may have had a son she didn’t know about. I consoled her when she found out, then she said it wasn’t his son, just his name, but that it was a secret. Secrets make life so complicated.” Bette says, as though she might have one of her own. But judging from her demeanor, I would doubt it.

“Well, she covered it all then, didn’t she?” I feel my jaw get tight as I think about them speaking of my private business. There are just too many people who know the truth for Ronnie not to, and with each reminder of that, I am tense beyond belief. I have to get this done. Lindsay and I promised each other. I would tell Ronnie, and she would call her mother. And now, we both may feel guilty when we face each other, but neither one of us has made a move toward real action.

“She’s a lovely girl. Lindsay respects other people’s life truths, even if she might not agree with them.”

Judging by that comment, I can only assume that Bette doesn’t agree with my life truths. “Would you like Lindsay for a daughter-in-law?” I ask Bette to see if she’d put her money where her mouth is. I mean, Lindsay may be a lovely girl, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t marry for money and make some horrific choices you’d hope the mother of your grandchild hadn’t made.

“She is precious and so open to what God has for her.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” As if I haven’t tried that kind of answer myself.

“Lindsay doesn’t seem ready to date to me. Although Ron’s been dead for over a year, she doesn’t seem to have found her way without him yet. She’s not ready to embark on something new, in my opinion, but I have tried to set her up on a few dates here and there. There’s nothing wrong with her getting back into the game for fellowship’s sake. She keeps flailing over this ministry idea of hers, and it’s taken her forever to plan something as simple as a wedding shower. Lindsay used to do that kind of thing in her sleep. But I’m babbling. Do tell me about Ronnie’s father. Did you love him very much?”