Dreaming August (9 page)

“I wanted to work it into the pavers, but Evelyn thought it was creepy. I figure I’ll hide it out beyond the arbor where she won’t even notice it. Those little hands belong here, don’t you think?”

Benny rose slowly to her feet. Dan reached to help her, and though she didn’t need his help, she took his hand. Benedetta Marie Grady was flighty and whimsical, but she was not incapable even if her grief made her seem fragile. Dan knew better than to believe it, or wish it, for a second.

“I think they do, too,” she answered. “Thanks for showing me.”

“You’ll keep my secret, right?”

“The secret from Evelyn about your sinister plan for the creepy handprints? Or the no-secret about you being such a mush?”

“Both.”

“I’ll do my best, but no promises.”

“It’s all I can ask.”

He led her back through the obstacle course of his garage, closing the door softly behind them. Back in the night garden, she breathed deeply.

“I smell lilies.”

Dan moved to his bed of Casablanca lilies and snapped one from its stem. He held it out to her. “Casablancas,” he said. “I get them over at White Flower Farm, in Morris.”

Her eyes met his. She took the lily, their fingers grazing and sending a jolt up Dan’s arm. He rubbed at the hair suddenly standing on end.

“I love White Flower Farm,” she said. “It’s been years since I even thought about going.”

“Probably since you started working at Savvy’s.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. She doesn’t grow exotic plants, though. And it’s hard to get there on my scooter.”

Was she hinting? Dan cleared his throat. “Well, you should come with me next time I go.”

“I’d like that.”

Score!
“They know me there. I get a discount.”

“Or course you do.” Benny sniffed at the flower. “Because you’re such an asshole, I guess, they can’t wait to get you off the premises.”

“Must be it.”

“Must be.”

The easy silence settled over them, around them. Benny’s smile didn’t fade, but the longer the silence lingered, the more Dan felt the need to fill it.

“You sure you won’t come in? There’s a ton of food left over.”

“No, thanks. It’s getting late. I already ate, anyway.”

“Let me walk you to your scooter then,” he said. “Where’d you park it? I didn’t hear you drive up.”

“I’m just down the driveway. You have no shoes on. I think I can manage.” Benny lifted the lily. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Dan touched his eyebrow in a causal salute. “I guess I’ll see you around, Benny.”

She walked away, and Dan felt no desire to follow her even if his body would oblige, which it wouldn’t. Whatever had just happened was enough. Perfect, even. The start he should have made back in February when he pushed too hard and scared her off. He stood beside the bed of lilies, listening. To the crunch of gravel. To the scooter revving to life. To the mechanical whine fading in the distance. Dan listened until there was nothing left to listen to but the night.

* * * *

Benny didn’t go home. She needed some distance between Dan and slumber. It was a pattern established back in February, taking space between seeing him and going home where she and Henny had lived. This time, she went back to the cemetery, back to Augie’s grave, but though she called and called to him, he didn’t appear. Riding through the narrow lanes of this place so familiar, the scent of Dan’s lily wafted, so heady it almost nauseated. As she walked up the hill to Henny’s grave, she plucked the flower from its place in the buttonhole of her shirt, twirled it between two fingers. The pale stamens and filaments were, in sunlight, pale green, but in moonlight as white and translucent as the petals. A smile came unbidden to her lips and for once, Benny didn’t squelch it.

Though habit sent her first to Henny, her husband definitely was not frequenting the cemetery where she had interred his mortal remains. If ever she had believed so, she didn’t any more. How long had she been coming to the cemetery out of habit? Out of guilt? Whatever reasons she had now for the frequency of her visits, they no longer involved Henny.

Instead she went to Harriet’s and leaned upon the stone. Benny bent to deadhead a marigold. Several more needed the same. Kneeling beside the little garden she had planted for this woman she’d never met but had known most of her life, she tucked the lily behind her ear and started pinching.

“I know you listen to me when I talk,” she said. “Augie said you do, and now that I know he’s not just me being nuts-o, I know you’re here, too.” She looked up at the stars. “I don’t know where Augie is, but he’s not here with me so maybe he’s with you. Can you tell him I saw his kids’ handprints?”

No squeeze. Not even a ruffle of breeze. But there never had been before. As always, Harriet wasn’t talking.

“He broke up the patio,” Benny told her anyway. “Dan did, I mean. But he couldn’t bring himself to throw away those handprints. He said they belonged in the yard. He’s such a mush.” Benny chuckled. “Even when we were kids, he tried to be so cool, but he didn’t fool anyone. I never understood why he didn’t have girlfriends like Tim did. He was good-looking, still is. He wasn’t the kind of guy who ogled the girls or made them feel trashy. And he’s funny in a goofy way. There were rumors about his parents, like his dad smacked his mom around. I don’t know if they’re true or not, but…”

Benny sighed, and then she straightened, stretched her back. She wondered what time it was. It had to be getting late. She checked her cell phone. Ten ’til nine, and several missed calls from her mother. Fabulous. She pressed the call-back.

“Hey, Ma.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the cemetery.”

“At this hour?”

“I went over to Evelyn Taylor’s place but the party was already over. I just stopped in here on my way home to finish up something I was doing earlier. I’m heading home now.”

“Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful. Don’t worry, okay?”

“All right.”

“Liar.” Benny laughed softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Benny. See you soon. I’ll make tea.”

Benny rose groaning to her feet.

“Good-night, Harriet,” she said. “Tell Augie I will be back soon. Not tomorrow. I have a doctor appointment. Crap. I forgot to ask my brother about the car.”

She texted Peter as she walked to her scooter.

Can i use yr car 2morrow

Just as she was tucking her cell into her pocket, it buzzed.

If i can use yr scoot

Kk thanx

She placed the lily onto her scooter seat, put her helmet on. If not for that fragrant, white flower, tea with her mother might, just might, help her forget the soft way Dan looked at her, and how it made her feel like there were bees in her shoes, in her hair, buzzing under her skin. She picked it up. She inhaled its scent, looked back toward Harriet’s grave where she could leave it and not feel bad for doing so, then placed it carefully into her milk-crate basket, legged over the scooter, and headed for home.

* * * *

“She was waiting for you.”

“I know, Harriet. I tried but it’s exhausting.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Maybe you should try it then.”

“And maybe you should mind your own affairs, you miscreant, and leave mine to me.”

“You are a puzzle, Harriet.”

“Good. I aim to keep it such. A woman’s got to maintain her mystery.”

“Why, Harriet, are you flirting with me?”

“No. I leave the flirting to you, for what good it will do you. She’s spoke for, you know.”

“Her husband is—”

“Not him, you rattlebrain. The other man. The one she was talking about. Daniel.”

“What makes you say this?”

“I got my reasons.”

“Reasons you won’t share with me?”

“Not my place to tell tales.”

“But you started it.”

“You jealous?”

“I…I think I am.”

“Then you’re daft, too.”

“So are you going to tell me?”

“No.”

“You are no fun, Harriet Gardner Farcus. No fun at all.”

Whip-poor-wills

Driving had never been her thing. Benny didn’t get her license until she was nineteen, and only then because her mother insisted. She didn’t like being encased in what was essentially a humungous bullet in need of a target. Her scooter limited her travels, but driving it was better than feeling like the itchy finger on a trigger.

She drove too slow, as evidenced by the horns honking and the other cars passing the moment the dotted line appeared in the road. White-knuckled and grumpy, Benny finally pulled into the clinic parking lot. She was ten minutes late even though she had given herself an extra half-hour to get there. Slamming the door made her feel slightly better. She walk-trotted across the steamy asphalt, up the steps, and into the ridiculously crowded but blissfully cool waiting room.

Benny signed in. At least a dozen names came before hers.

“How long do you think it will be?” she asked the unsmiling receptionist.

“An hour. Maybe a little more. Depends.”

“But I had an appointment for eleven o’clock.”

The receptionist glanced at her watch. “So did three other women here, and they were on time. Have a seat, Ms. Grady. I’ll bring you a cup of tea in a few minutes.”

Benny found a seat between two heavily pregnant women. Good as her word, the receptionist brought out a tray with not one but several steaming cups of what smelled like chamomile tea. Holding the cup in both hands, she inhaled the steam before sipping. Chamomile always reminded her of high school and autumn days sitting on the porch swing under the stairs with her mother. Their ritual, every day, this tea when she got home from school. Only through the coldest parts of winter did they take the ritual into the kitchen.

“Is this your first?” the woman to her left asked.

“Yes, it is. Yours?”

“Hell, no.” She hooted. “My fourth. And my last.”

“That’s what you said with the last little one, Teresa,” the woman on her right teased. “And the one before and the one before.”

“You hush. That wriggler you got in there is your fourth, too.”

“But I don’t keep saying it’s the last. I’ll have as many babies as the Good Lord lets me.”

“Good Lord, nothing, Colette. It’s all to do with that man of yours. Never knew a man couldn’t keep it in his pants like him.”

“At least mine knows how to use his. Can’t figure how you keep getting pregnant when we all know your man takes them blue pills to get his up.”

Benny tried not to laugh as they got more and more vulgar, and failed. But they hurled obscene comments about their husbands’ attributes and prowess with the good-natured feel of women who knew one another well, probably went way back. Several of the other waiting women were quick to join in. Benny envied their camaraderie. She’d only shared her pregnancy with Henny, and a woman dead a hundred years, both silent as the grave.

“So how far along are you?” Colette asked, and the room quieted. Waited.

“Only about four months. I’m here for my first ultrasound.”

“You’ll like that. Makes it real. Get them to print out a picture for you.”

“I will.”
Though I have no one to show it to.
The loneliness of it all hit Benny hard. She suddenly wished for her mother, for Savvy, for anyone she loved to be there with her to share the experience with.

Damn Henny. Damn Dan. It just wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“What’s wrong, girl?” Colette asked. “Why’re you crying?”

“It’s a very long and complicated story.” Benny couldn’t seem to stop herself. In this company of women, strangers and sisters at the same time, Benny spilled her guts in soft tears and gentle sobs amid crooning clucks from the other women gathered in closer. From Henny’s death to Valentine’s Day to the night prior in the dark garden with the oblivious father of her child, she told them everything—except about Augie. Him, she kept firmly to herself.

“That’s a lot of drama, there,” Teresa shook her head. “Good enough to be on TV.”

“So that’s what a white girl like you is doing at this place.” Colette whistled. “I didn’t figure on all that.”

Benny startled. “There are other white women here besides me.”

“Sure there are, but not like you. We’re all here ’cause we’re poor and have no health insurance worth a damn. I can tell you’re not poor. You don’t have the look.”

Benny’s glance flickered from face to face, then she blushed for doing so. She had never considered herself well off, but neither did she ever feel poor. Her parents had worked hard all their lives. They owned a home without a mortgage, always had food and fuel and a little something extra to pay for a vacation somewhere warm when winter lingered too long. She and Henny had been the same, living in safe poverty upstairs from her parents, where she still lived now on her survivor benefits, state-supplemented insurance, and the small but sufficient salary she made working at Savvy’s. She even managed to save a bit in the yet-to-be-used travel fund.

These women had never been on vacation. They had no savings. They lived day to day, paycheck to paycheck. They went to the childbirth clinic where the wait time was always several hours even with an appointment because they had no other choice, not because they didn’t want anyone in their town to know they were pregnant. Black women. White women. Asian and Latina women. Colette was right. Benny did not look like them. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was setting her apart, but she felt it. Keenly. And it made her feel like crying all over again.

“Colette,” the receptionist called. The woman beside her rose awkwardly to her feet.

“You got to tell that man he’s having a baby,” she said. “Make sure he pays you child support.”

“You’re a stone-cold fish, Colie.” Teresa shook her head. “This has nothing to do with money. Isn’t that right, Benny?”

“Colette? You coming or you want to give your spot to someone else?”

“I’m coming, Trudy. Hold your water. Lord knows, I can’t.” Then to Benny. “Just tell him.”

“I will.” Benny sniffed. “Thank you, Colette.”

Teresa took her hand as Colette waddled away, patted it. “You’re going to be just fine. You’ll see.”