Finding Bluefield (17 page)

“No. But the bar makes great margaritas, and those guys kept buying them for us.”

“Diane must think you’re straight,” Barbara said.

“I guess.”

“I wonder what that makes me.”

“Sad,” Nicky said.

“Thanks a lot.”

“Were you hoping she thought we were lesbians?”

“Sort of,” Barbara said. “That would mean that no one cared.”

“Let me see if I understand this,” Nicky said. “You want to be ignored for the right reasons?”

“Now you’ve got it.”

*

When September rolled around, Paul took to kindergarten without any adjustment. Chester Road Elementary, just two years old, still smelled new inside. Construction had begun with the promise of Lyndon Johnson’s New Society and ended with the shootings of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. Nicky used to bring Paul to the site to watch the building being raised. They sat on the grass across the road and ate a picnic lunch while work crews and large machines went about their business.

Still, even though the building was new, its roots were old Medford. Paul’s teacher, Mrs. Kelly, grew up in Medford and went to school with Diane. Mrs. Kelly was related by blood or by marriage to three teachers, one firefighter, a police officer, two DPW workers, and a former mayor. Back in Virginia, it took several generations of buried relatives to be considered more than a visitor. With the transient college population in Medford, Nicky had hoped that the waiting period would be shorter. If not for her, at least for Paul.

The long school day was less easy on Nicky than Paul, and though he took the bus to school each morning, Nicky found a way to plan her day to coincide with picking him up after school. Standing around waiting for the bus to arrive each afternoon made her edgy, and even though Susan offered to take turns at the bus stop, most days Nicky’s impatience won out and she hopped in her car and made the drive over. Which is what she had done that afternoon as she parked the Bel Air across from the school and got out. She shut the engine but not the radio, where Janis Joplin was belting the blues. Nicky adjusted her sunglasses, lit a cigarette, and leaned back. Paul’s first parent-teacher conference was coming up, and Nicky was hoping to be a familiar face around school by then. As Paul and Josh emerged together, bouncing off each other and laughing, Nicky felt the moment. Moving turned out good. When Paul’s teacher waved to her, Nicky waved back and thought that they were all going to be all right. The boys hopped on the backseat of the convertible with a lot to say.

*

Barbara uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two glasses while Nicky put Paul to sleep. She was sitting on the rug, her back against the couch when Nicky came down. She handed Nicky a glass and watched her start a fire.

“At school,” Nicky said, “Mrs. Kelly asked the kids to tell the class what their parents do.”

“This should be interesting.”

“Josh told the class his father works in space.”

“Okay,” Barbara said. “But that’s not your point.”

“No,” Nicky said, pausing for a sip of wine. “Paul said that I take care of him.”

“Go on.”

“And that you’re a doctor.”

“Good for him. But I’m still waiting.”

“Mrs. Kelly said you didn’t count because they were only talking about mothers and fathers.”

“And there it is.”

“There what is?”

“Why you’ve been scowling all night.”

“I was waiting to tell you.”

“Did Paul say I was his mother?” Barbara asked.

“No, he said you worked as a doctor so we could have nice things. Mrs. Kelly said that was nice of you and went on to the next kid.”

“That’s my boy,” Barbara said.

“This doesn’t upset you?” Nicky searched her pockets for a lighter. “She basically told him that a normal family is not us.”

“You really believe there’s such a thing as a normal family?” Barbara sat behind Nicky and started to rub her shoulders.

“Paul never sees families like us. He can’t see us on TV, or in the movies, or anywhere,” Nicky said. “They certainly aren’t going to talk about us in school. It’s going to turn him against us.”

“Maybe there aren’t many places Paul’s going to see dykes, let alone dykes with babies. So what? The whole perfect American family stuff is a fiction. Most of what you call the ‘normal’ family was made up by Jewish immigrants working in TV and movies. They made up the kind of families that they thought Americans wanted to see. Turned out they knew exactly what everyone wanted to see. But they couldn’t even put themselves in the movies because they were still outsiders. Same as Barbie.”

“Barbie? You’re losing me now.”

“She was designed by a German Jewish woman who survived the holocaust. And what doll does this Ruth Handler correctly guess that girls in the US want? Someone who looks like her? No. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed Aryan model. It’s like that for lots of people. Just wait till Paul’s class starts counting Santas, making Christmas decorations, and learning Christmas carols. Go ask Susan and Abe about fitting in then.”

“See, I would stick up for them.” Nicky touched her lighter to her cigarette. “Shouldn’t I defend myself?”

“Nobody fits in. That’s the big secret. Nobody.” Barbara rubbed the curve of Nicky’s neck. “Most people are scared shitless of being left out and will do anything to try to fit in. Especially leaving others out.”

“Then why not just flaunt it if we’re never going to fit in?” Nicky said, closing her lighter. She blew out a perfect ring. “If they’re going to think that we’re all strange no matter what we do, why do anything to keep up pretenses?”

“If we run in and fight every time someone looks at Paul wrong, they’re going to label him,” Barbara said. “If we make this about us instead of him, then we’ll turn him against us. This is going to be a long haul through school, and we are going to have to choose what to fight and what to ignore.”

“I want them to know right from the start that we are not going to take shit. I think we should have a talk with Mrs. Kelly,” Nicky said.

“We can’t fight them and win,” Barbara said. “But they’re scared of us. All we can do is get them to like us, or not hate us, and then maybe they’ll focus on us as parents instead of as lesbians. And as long as Paul does well in school, teachers will like him and not care about us. And you are going to promise me that you are not going to talk to his teacher.”

“Is that what you have to do as a doctor? Make them forget you’re a woman?”

“I make them remember that I’m a doctor. A very good one. That’s the only part of me that is important to them. You’re the only one I need to think it’s important that I’m a dyke.” Barbara gave Nicky a long kiss.

“Okay, the kiss wins this round,” Nicky said, “but one of these days, Paul is going to figure out that we’re different.”

“I like to think he already has. All we can do is hope that he loves us and himself and maybe not care too much what others think. The fact that he has two women for parents isn’t his fight, it’s ours. And I’m not in the mood to fight right now,” Barbara said, kissing Nicky again and again. “But I am in the mood.”

“The way I see it,” Nicky said, “nothing ever changes because we keep going along with things for our kids or our parents.”

“Neither of us have parents, so I guess it’s all about Paul,” Barbara said, standing up and taking off pieces of clothes as she made her way toward their bedroom. “Hurry up.”

“Okay, okay. I’m coming.” Nicky jumped up and ran after Barbara. “But I’m still mad at Paul’s teacher.”

“Promise me.”

*

Whether it was the wine or the chocolate cake, Nicky hardly slept that night. She kept going over and over the same argument in her head. She rose early, ready for a fight, and drove to Paul’s school to see if Mrs. Kelly was in. On the drive, she rehearsed several speeches. She felt the anger, the outrage, the hate building until she realized it was out of proportion. She was arguing with Carol-Ann again, and Carol-Ann wasn’t even listening. Or maybe she was frustrated by her own inaction, her own lack of direction, her own sense of helplessness. The Chicago Eight trial, My Lai, the Weatherman. They were all happening without her. All around her people were choosing sides, and she was at home baking cookies. If the revolution was coming, where did that leave her and Barbara and Paul? Maybe I’m not that different.

Nicky downshifted. Barbara was right. She wanted Paul to have friends, to be invited places. She didn’t want him left out of things because of her. But this was only kindergarten, and the troubles were just beginning. Twelve more years to go. At least in college Paul will be grown; no one will care. It takes so damn long to raise a child, she thought. So much to learn and then unlearn. As a child, Nicky had helped her father deliver animals. Calves, piglets, foals. She’d watched chicks peck their way into the world. In no time, these animals were up and running, taking care of themselves. But it wasn’t that way for people. If growing up was easy, Nicky’s father liked to say, it wouldn’t take so long.

Nicky hit the brakes and turned the car around. On the way home, she stopped at the bakery for fresh bread and muffins. “I was dreaming about French toast all night,” Nicky said, entering the kitchen. Barbara looked at her. Paul looked up from a bowl of cereal. “I’ll have a real breakfast ready in a moment.”

1975

Barbara woke Paul early so they could make breakfast and bring it to Nicky in bed before she awoke. They sang “Happy Birthday” as they entered the bedroom with a tray with French toast, coffee, juice, and a roll of architectural drawings tied with ribbons. Barbara had rummaged through the still unpacked boxes from Bluefield to find a good picture of the Stewart family farm pond. The black-and-white photo showed wildflowers in bloom and the grass under Nicky’s bare feet. The landscaper that Barbara hired could not feel the coolness of the water or smell the moisture in the soil, but it all came back to her. Nicky had been comparing every swimming hole since Bluefield to that pond, and Barbara was going to re-create it behind their home for Nicky’s birthday. The landscaper looked at the picture as Barbara led him around the property in search of the right spot. Barbara pointed out the cedar raft afloat in the pond’s deepest water and asked him to build one of those.

Paul helped Nicky finish eating and they got ready for the convoy of earth-moving machines. She rolled up her drawings and followed Barbara and Paul to meet the crew. In the few hours after Barbara left for work and Paul for school, a path to the site had been cleared and the digging begun. Nicky took a cup of coffee and climbed out onto her roof to get a better view of the earth being moved.

That night, Nicky put
Bridge Over Troubled Water
on the tape player in their bedroom, lit some candles, and uncorked a bottle of champagne. She shut off the light, poured two glasses of champagne, and turned to find Barbara naked on top of the covers.

“I’m just going to stand here and enjoy the sight,” Nicky said. “I might even have to drink both glasses.”

As they made love, Barbara felt something in Nicky’s breast. She didn’t say anything right away but arranged for Nicky to go for a test, which led to more tests. A week later, they sat and listened to Dr. Hirsh explain that the biopsy results from the radiologist and the lab supported his suspicion that the small tumor in Nicky’s left breast was, regretfully, cancer. When he said the word cancer, Barbara grabbed hold of Nicky’s hand. She let go quickly. And then took it again.

“While they were doing the biopsy,” Nicky told the doctor, “I did the math and figured out that I must have smoked about a quarter million cigarettes.”

“I should have made you quit,” Barbara said. “I should have been more insistent.”

“That’s a lot of cigarettes,” Dr. Hirsch said.

“I got an early start and then I really put my mind to it,” Nicky told Dr. Hirsch. “Got addicted before anyone decided to mention that it wasn’t good for you.”

“When you were young,” Dr. Hirsch said, “you wouldn’t have cared what anyone told you anyway.” Dr. Hirsch had been Nicky and Barbara’s physician since they arrived in Medford.

Nicky walked around the small office. “People grow tobacco and raise pigs for a living where I grew up,” Nicky said. “So everyone smokes and eats pork.” She took her lighter out of her pocket and turned it over in her hands. “One or the other kept most of the town going.” She replaced the lighter in her pocket.

“We can’t be sure it’s from cigarettes,” Dr. Hirsch said.

Nicky laughed. Dr. Hirsch went on to suggest that Nicky be operated on immediately. And that she quit smoking immediately as well. There was a surgeon, a Dr. Thompson in Ellwell, he wanted to refer Nicky too. Dr. Hirsch also liked the oncologist that worked with Dr. Thompson. Barbara knew the surgeon and though she had referred patients to him, she sometimes wondered if he performed too many mastectomies. At that moment, Barbara was only glad that he had so much practice.

Dr. Hirsch picked up the phone and called the surgeon. “Can you head over now?” he asked, covering the receiver.

Barbara nodded.

“He’s going to have his staff schedule surgery for early next week,” Dr. Hirsch continued after hanging up the phone. “Just to get things moving. If you decide against surgery and start with the oncologist, he’ll cancel. My recommendation is surgery and I think he’ll agree.”