Stiltsville: A Novel (35 page)

Paul was wearing a white guayabera and tan slacks, and Marse was wearing a lime-green tank dress that accentuated her smooth tan neckline and thin arms. I was running behind schedule, and still needed to change out of the black cover-up and shorts I’d been wearing all day, so after pleasantries at the door—Paul handed over a bottle of wine, which he said he’d bought on his last trip to Spain—I led them onto the back deck and filled their glasses and put out the hummus plate, then excused myself and went to change. Paul looked to me a tad paunchier and maybe a little less cocksure than the young man I’d known more than two decades earlier, but essentially he was simply an older version of himself, with thinner hair. Dennis rolled out of the guest room as I headed up the stairs. He’d washed his hair and it was still damp. “They’re on the back porch,” I said. “I’m just going to put on a dress.”

“I’ll see you out there,” he said. “Relax, please.”

I changed into a sleeveless navy dress that I had worn only once, and that I thought showed off my legs, which were, at this point in my life, my best feature. When I came out onto the deck, Paul was talking and Dennis was laughing. “What did you do?” Dennis said, and Paul—to his credit—understood his slurred speech, and answered. “I fired his butt, and hers.”

Marse said to me, “Paul found his accountants having sex with each other in the break room.”

“You’re kidding,” I said, wondering how the topic of sex had been broached so early in the evening, with so little wine.

Paul said, “It was like something out of a movie. They’re both these mousy types. No one I’d suspect.”

“And you fired them,” I said.

“On the spot. But you know, it was only me who saw—we were closed, everyone was gone—and after, I thought that might have been rash. I mean, they were just having some fun.”

“Maybe you should let them come back.”

“That’s what I told him,” said Marse.

“I agree,” said Dennis.

“Maybe I should,” said Paul. He stood at the deck railing and looked out at the lawn and the water. “You’ve got quite a place here.”

The house was not, certainly, the fanciest or most well appointed of our friends’ (surely Paul’s Fisher Island bachelor pad was grand, and Marse’s condo downtown was virtually a palace, almost as large as our home), but living on the canal was a rare gift. The waning sunlight on the water was golden and rich.

“I don’t know if you remember,” said Dennis as clearly as he could, “but I grew up in this house.”

This time Paul didn’t understand. Marse spoke up before I could. “He said he grew up in this house.”

Paul nodded. “I’ve been here before. We stopped by once, before you were married. We picked up your father to go fishing. I didn’t come inside. I didn’t get to see this view.”

“We caught two marlins that day,” said Dennis, and Paul understood.

“This big,” said Paul, his arms wide, and we all laughed politely.

“It’s been too long,” said Dennis. “When was it? The air show? Margo was just a little kid.” I was surprised at how much he was talking. I could see the toll it took on him. He stopped after every sentence to swallow, then continued. “I remember being eaten alive in the Everglades.”

“We caught nothing that trip.”

“Who was that with us? Marcus?”

“Yep, Marcus Beck.”

“Good guy.”

Paul shook his head. “You know he died last year. I didn’t go to the funeral, I just heard through the grapevine.”

“We went,” said Dennis. “Nice service. His girls spoke.”

“Should I get the grub?” I said, and Marse nodded and offered to help.

In the kitchen, she said, “What do you think? I think it’s going well.”

“Sure.”

“You’re not reassuring.” She said it offhandedly, like it was a statement more on my character than on the moment.

“I’m sorry. I was so nervous.”

“You were nervous? I was nervous! I made Paul change his shirt twice.”

I found myself slightly shaky all of a sudden, as if I hadn’t eaten in a long time. I leaned against the counter with both hands. “I didn’t know what to expect. I don’t give Dennis enough credit, I guess. There’s no reason he can’t have friends, even now.”

“Especially now.”

“Something’s changing,” I said. My voice trembled. “People are here all the time. Gloria and Grady. And my goddamn son-in-law.”

“But isn’t that good? Don’t you need a break?”

“I miss my husband,” I said, but just then, I could see Dennis through the window, and I remembered standing in the same kitchen so many years before, watching Dennis and his father make their way toward the house from the dock, knowing that he was telling his father that he was going to propose to me. And now, he was more the same than he was different. His hair was lighter and thinner, but he had the same charming smile and the same way of moving his hands when he spoke. Of course there was the wheelchair, but it was easy, in that moment, to think that he was just sitting down, that we were just having some friends to dinner, and that instead of focusing on him, I should be focusing on my friend, who was in love. “I’m sorry,” I said, and I turned toward her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. She hugged me back. She wasn’t much of a hugger, and let go early, but she tried. I said, “I’ve been so wrapped up. Paul seems very nice. And he’s obviously smitten.” This was true. While he’d been speaking, he’d glanced sideways at Marse every so often, as if for approval. He seemed robust and shining, like a person newly in love. I was envious of them, of course. I pushed down the envy—there was no room for it.

“He told me he loved me.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I know you’re skeptical.”

I shook my head. “I’m not skeptical.” The decision was like a flipping switch: I would no longer be skeptical. Marse arranged the salmon and asparagus on a platter and sliced some lemons. I gathered plates and ice water on a tray, and together we stepped back into the evening, still warm but without the bite of the afternoon heat. The sunset was reddening. We sat down around the table, passing plates and filling them, and when we all had food in front of us, Paul did something I never would have expected. He brought his hands together and said, “I’d like to give a blessing.”

I looked at Marse. “I forgot to mention,” she said. “Paul’s a Christian. But he promises not to drag me to church.”

“Of course,” said Dennis. He bowed his head.

In a hushed tone, Paul said, “Lord, we give thanks for this abundant food, for this glorious day, and for old friends. Guide us and keep us. Amen.”

“Amen,” said Dennis.

“Amen,” said Marse.

“Let’s eat,” I said, and stood up to pour more wine.

The evening settled into a languor of the sort that happens only with old friends—it was this, more than anything else, that convinced me that the whole thing had been a good idea. Paul and Dennis made plans to go fishing, and after the meal I brought out a key lime pie and Paul assumed, incorrectly, that it was homemade, and we all talked about how the key lime pie from Publix was the best and there was never any sense in making your own because it wouldn’t measure up. Then we talked about a new development going up down south, replacing a shoddy batch of mini mansions that had been leveled by Andrew, and how Paul knew one of the contractors and was thinking of buying there. His condo on Fisher Island was overpriced, he said, and the ferry was a pain.

“An awful lot of room for one,” said Dennis, and Paul said, “Aye,” and looked over at Marse, who was beaming. In all the years I’d known her, she had never lived with a man. The man she’d known best and longest was Dennis, and after I’d come along her friendship with him had channeled its way through me.

Paul offered to build us a ramp from the back deck to the patio. “It would take an hour—two, tops,” he said, and, as an example of how much our lives were changing, how unfitting our usual preferences had become, Dennis accepted the offer and said he would appreciate it.

It was dark now, and the water lapped quietly in the waterway and gurgled in the swimming pool. The mosquitoes were out. I lit the citronella candles that sat on the deck railing, and the light shone on our profiles. Paul’s face was round and fleshy in the torchlight, and hair showed at the neckline of his shirt. I could tell that he and Marse were holding hands under the table. Dennis’s face was sharp by contrast. He coughed a little and smoothed down his shirt. “I haven’t laughed this much in a while,” he said, and Paul leaned forward, as if to get him to repeat the comment, but Marse repeated it for him. She was another wife to Dennis. I’d thought this before, but it was truer now, with her running his errands (just that week she’d picked up his prescriptions for him, then stayed for dinner), and making meal provisions and repeating his sentences when guests couldn’t hear. She was almost as at home in the role as I was. I had shared him, a little, all those years, but I didn’t mind. Paul’s blessing came back to me. It wouldn’t hurt, I thought, to give thanks a little more often. But I knew that if I tried to institute a mealtime ritual, Dennis would scoff. It was fine for company, but for us alone, no ritual was needed.

O
ne Saturday later that month, Paul came over to build the ramp, and while he worked, Marse and Dennis and I lolled in the pool. Marse had brought water weights—they were dumbbell-shaped floats that filled with water—and led Dennis through the exercises he’d learned from Lola. Margo and I had been to water aerobics that morning, and now she was taking a nap in her old bedroom, and Stuart was in the front yard, trimming the alamanda bushes, which he’d noticed were growing unruly. I’d let go of the gardener. The expense had seemed unnecessary in this time of tightening our belts. It was as if—as Marse led Dennis in his exercises and Paul hammered away on the ramp and Stuart gardened—we’d acquired a whole new staff.

Lola’s pool exercises were working. Dennis had regained a little strength in his hands and legs. He’d been walking more—just from room to room, that sort of thing—and seemed always to be gripping something—a racquetball, a water bottle—even when we were watching a movie or reading. He was sleeping less fitfully; Lola said his muscles had been too weak to make the basic adjustments needed for a comfortable night of sleep. His voice, however, was still deteriorating. It occurred to me that we were marking time, unit by unit, and those loyal compatriots who were with us now would be with us until the end. And distantly I wondered, as I did almost continuously, when that would be. It was nearing but not yet urgent, like a hurricane that’s only just started to form in a far-off place. There was a part of me that believed this was how it was meant to go: we had met, we had married, we had raised Margo. Still, I was barbed with envy of any couple fortunate enough to spend their golden years together, Grady and Gloria included.

I went around filling glasses. Paul was finishing the ramp and Marse and Dennis’s exercising had deteriorated and they were lightly splashing each other, teasing about something. If Marse weren’t an almost daily visitor, I wondered, would she still understand his slurred speech? I went through the house to see if Stuart needed anything but came on him in the front hallway, under the stairs, with Lola. I saw them before they saw me: Stuart had a hand on Lola’s waist, and his head was cocked and they were standing a bit too close to each other—his posture looked as if he meant to persuade her of something, but I didn’t hear what he’d said. When he realized I was behind him he took a step back and turned. He said, “Frannie, we think the captain might want a ride. Want to go for a ride?” He met my eyes as he spoke. I wasn’t sure what I had seen.

“You go ahead,” I said.

“Aye, aye,” said Stuart, and took large strides down the hall toward the back door, leaving Lola and me standing on the hallway carpet. She was not the actor Stuart was, and I could tell by her inability to meet my eyes that she was embarrassed.

“Lola,” I said, and she looked up at me. She was such a little person, so elfin and doe-eyed. I almost felt bad for her. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off? We’ll see you Tuesday.”

She nodded. Her large green duffel bag was at her feet, and she picked it up and walked to the door with it. “Tuesday?” she said.

“Yes,” I said. After I’d heard her little red coupe start up and drive away, I yelled up the stairs to Margo. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” I called. I willed my voice not to shake.

“What?” she called down. We had always been a family that shouted from room to room.

“Time to get up. Stuart’s taking you for a ride.”

She might have balked, told me to tell him to go without her, but maybe there was something in my voice, because I heard her feet hit the floor and she said, “Tell him I’ll be right down.”

Outside, Marse and Dennis were beside the pool, drying off. He sat on one of the teak chaise lounges, toweling his hair, while she wrapped herself in a beach towel. When she saw me, she said, “What’s this I hear about an activity?”

“I was thinking we might grab lunch instead, let them go without us.”

“Fine with me,” she said. “Paul keeps asking me to fetch things for him. It’s like because he’s working, his legs are broken.”

“You’re not coming?” said Dennis, and then he swallowed hard. He was tired.

“Go ahead. Let Stuart drive. Don’t wear yourself out.”