heard you. Do you understand? Go up to your room—now.” He reached for the last cookie, but Marion slapped his hand. “You’ve had enough.”
Theo went upstairs. He wasn’t as upset as I would have been at his age. He seemed accustomed to Marion and took her in stride.
“They are wild animals,” Marion said again, but she was smiling. “Your sister is horrible with them.”
I didn’t know what to say to this, because while it was so obviously true, it wasn’t up to me to pound more nails into my sister’s domestic coffin. I took the last cookie without offering it to Marion—something I would not normally do.
After that whole scene, I could understand why Marion didn’t come often. To make it worse, for the whole time Marion was there, Winnie insisted on keeping the television on. The TV was enormous and dominated the family room.
“I can’t turn off Dr. Phil,” Winnie said when I reached for the remote control. “I look forward to hearing him every day. He is the true voice of common sense. The world would be much better off if everyone listened to Dr. Phil.”
Marion turned to me and rolled her eyes. Marion was apparently no fan of Dr. Phil.
I didn’t know much about Dr. Phil, but if Winnie would listen to anyone—even to Dr. Phil—it couldn’t hurt.
Chapter 14
When I came downstairs dressed for Thanksgiving dinner, Winnie looked at me and said, “Thanksgiving, Jane. Not a wake.” I suppose Winnie could have used a little more tact, but that wouldn’t have been Winnie.
I already felt awkward. When I went through the clothes in my suitcases, I couldn’t find anything flattering. I had the green suit, but I didn’t think it was appropriate. I knew how I wanted to look, or had some vision of it. With the possibility of seeing Max again, I wanted to look self-assured. I should have worn the suit. If anyone could make clothes that would instill instant confidence, they’d make a fortune. Isn’t that what clothes are really about? I chose a black dress since, as everyone knows, you can wear black almost anywhere. I think the problem was that it was old and shapeless and my stockings were opaque. I usually wore tights, because they were more comfortable and so thick they hardly ever ran. My shoes were flat and sensible, which would have been fine on an ordinary day, but at the moment I was wishing for a bit of a heel. My wardrobe was a consequence of my own indifference. Once I met a woman who joined a Cuban religion, and when she became a priestess, she had to decide on one color to wear for the rest of her life. She chose white. I thought this was a wonderful plan, so simple. Black was my spiritual choice.
“Fashion magazines have just passed you by, haven’t they, Jane?” Winnie asked. She didn’t mean to insult me; she meant to improve me. Still, I didn’t know how she became such an authority, she of the powder blue jogging suit. This afternoon the jogging suit had been replaced by a paisley skirt and a matching sweater set with pearls. Her shoes were flat, but more like ballet slippers than the Doc Martens I was wearing. The pearls made her look very lady-of-the-manor. She wore matching earrings. It wasn’t that she looked good; it was that she looked right.
Charlie came downstairs in chinos and a sweater. He was balding a bit at the crown and not especially handsome, but he appeared solid and reliable and there is something attractive about that. You could find Charlie’s type in bars all over Boston lifting a beer and rooting for the home team. Max hadn’t been like that. He had the kind of good looks other men were wary of. Bentley had even mentioned it and Bentley himself was urbane and polished in his own drunken way. Bentley loved referring to Max as “Hubbell,” Robert Redford’s character in
“The man was living in a basement,” I reminded him.
“Oh, Jane, I never thought you were so lacking in imagination.”
“And in the movie Robert Redford was the living, breathing ideal of what the country had to offer, and it was Barbra Streisand, the Jewish one, who had to struggle.”
“She could have stopped struggling anytime,” Bentley said. “She just insisted on unhappiness. Some people do.”
“Maybe a scarf,” Winnie said. I hardly thought a scarf was going to turn me from plain Jane into a new, more extraordinary version of myself.
Winnie disappeared for a few minutes and when she came back she had a blue velvet scarf, still in its original package. When she hung it around my neck, I had to admit that it was an improvement.
Winnie stepped back and looked at me. “I’m very good at this,” she said. “I should start a business.”
Before we left for the big house (which is what Winnie called the senior Maples’ five-bedroom farmhouse), I rushed back to my room. It was at the back of the house and had a view of the field between the two houses. The smell of manure didn’t bother me. I liked it. It was mixed with the smell of hay, and fallen leaves, wood-burning fires, and autumn. My room in Winnie’s house was white and blue, the furniture was Shaker style and simple. It was a calm room, with a desk, a large shabby chair, and a generous ottoman where I liked to put my books, my journal, my glasses, and the stories I was reading.
I sat at the desk and picked up the phone to call Bentley to wish him a happy Thanksgiving. He didn’t pick up so I left a message. It occurred to me to call Teddy and Miranda. They weren’t there either, and when I spoke to their machine I pretended that it was both of us, Winnie and I, who had thought to call them. Priscilla was at her sister’s and I had misplaced the number.
The five of us, Winnie, Charlie, the two boys, and I, walked across the field. The older Maples had placed a walkway of fieldstones between the houses, because without them there were times when you would find yourself ankle deep in mud. I remembered those muddy March days from my years at Wellesley when there was nothing you could do but slog through it. We called it “the ubiquitous mud.” That reminded me that I was scheduled to speak at Wellesley after New Year’s. It was over a month away and I was already nervous, but that was nothing compared with the way I felt about the possibility of seeing Max again.
Winnie insisted on carrying all five pies, and when they were piled into her arms they reached the tip of her nose.
“I don’t want your mother to think we are coming empty-handed,” she said.
“We aren’t coming empty-handed,” Charlie said. “What does it matter who carries them?”
“You know your mother. I don’t want her to think I’m being lazy.”
“My mother would never think that,” Charlie said. Lights were on in every window in the house. It was a chilly afternoon and the sun had given up trying to make an impression.
Marion Maple came to the door and opened it wide.
“Come in, come in. We’re all starving,” she said.
“But this is what time you told us to come, Marion,” Winnie said.
“Yes, dear, of course.” Marion kissed Winnie on the forehead. Marion had a substantial body, generous in all areas. She wore an ankle-length velvet skirt. She reminded me of a jolly Mrs. Claus. Marion turned to me. “You’re looking especially well, Jane.” She had to say it, though I knew it wasn’t true. I was looking the same as I always looked—unadorned.
“Thank you,” I said.
Lindsay and Heather came rushing toward us from the recesses of the house. They scooped up their nephews and smothered them with kisses that the boys suffered without complaint, though when they were finally left alone, I saw Theo wipe his cheek with the back of his hand.
“Jane, we’re so glad you’ve come,” Lindsay said. “Have you met any famous authors lately?” I often met famous authors. Sometimes I published them in the
I wasn’t fond of “experimental stuff.”
