“I just think—”
“Let’s just drop it.”
Vicki turned to the barista wiping down the table next to her. “Can I have another half-cup of the Vienna roast?”
“Six months is a long time for a woman to keep her dead husband’s voice on her answering machine, Vicki.”
“I thought we weren’t discussing it anymore. Are you going to eat the rest of that muffin?”
Alice Schuford had a friend over. Her name was Bettie O’Shield, and she had known Alice since the two had met as twelve-year-olds at Chippewa Ranch Camp in Wisconsin’s North Woods. Bettie now lived in Minneapolis. Right after Alice’s husband Burl’s death, Bettie was with her friend nearly every day. Lately the visits had tapered off, by mutual agreement, to about twice a week.
“So what is the one thing you did this week?” asked Bettie. Bettie O’Shield was drinking “French Vanilla Café” in a teacup. Bettie sometimes pretended that she and Alice were the two young women in the General Foods International Coffees commercial, grabbing girl-time together in what looked like the middle of a flower shop. Alice and Bettie were sitting on the sofa in Alice’s den. The den had been her husband’s domain — everything was either paneled or shagged. There wasn’t a bright color, flower, or houseplant in sight.
Alice pointed at her husband’s worn Naugahyde recliner. “I almost called St. Vincent de Paul this morning to take this chair away.”
“Why didn’t you? I had them haul away my old couch last month. They use off-duty firemen. There were two gorgeous off-duty firemen in my house, Alice. I made them stay and have some bundt cake.”
“I just can’t bring myself to get rid of anything.”
“You need to re-record your O.G.M., honey.”
“What’s my ‘O.G.M.’?”
“Your outgoing message. On your answering machine. Don’t people call — people who don’t know you — don’t they call and hear Burl’s voice and leave messages for him?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter because I don’t call them back.”
“What if they call back? What do you say to them?”
“I say he isn’t home.”
“Then they’ll just call back again.”
“Sometimes I say he’s away on business.”
“That’s an awfully long business trip your husband’s taking.”
“Bettie, sometimes what you think is clever is really just rude.” Alice stood up. “Can I get you another cup?”
“Only if you want me to go into a diabetic coma. Alice, you need to get rid of all of this furniture. This was his room — you need to make it your room now. And you need to do something with his clothes. Listen to me, honey. I’ve been through this before.”
“You never lost a husband.”
“Not to death, but I have certainly lost a husband. Everything Dusty left behind, I burned in the backyard. There were toxic fumes and the fire department showed up. That’s the happy ending to that story. I gave the firemen apple fritters.”
Alice sat back down. “It’s hard, Bettie.”
“I know, honey. It’s one of the hardest things you’re ever going to do.”
Alice leaned forward. She took her head in her hands and massaged her temples. “I don’t even cry anymore,” she said, her voice slightly muted. “It’s like I don’t have any tears left.” Alice lifted her head to look directly at her friend. “Why do you and Bonnie and everybody else want me to erase him — to pretend like he was never even here?”
“Bonnie’s talked to you about this too?”
Alice nodded. “She came over yesterday.”
“None of us want you to erase Burl, honey. You have your memories and your pictures and all your letters. But you’re not allowed to pretend like he’s still here. Every time you look at that chair, I know a part of you is waiting for him to walk in and sit down. It isn’t good for you.”
“Why isn’t it good? Why can’t you hold onto somebody for as long as you want to? There isn’t a law.”
“What happens when you go to bed? Haven’t you got used to him not being in that bed with you?”
Alice shook her head. She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Half the time he’d fall asleep in front of the TV and not come to bed at all.”
“Sweetie, I want you to go to that answering machine and erase that O.G.M. and record a new one. I’ll be here to help you.”
“What do I say?”
“Just say, ‘You have reached the Schuford residence. I’m sorry but I can’t take your call right now.’ They don’t have to know if you’re out of the house or in the bathtub or whatever. But make it ‘I’, honey. Not ‘we.’”
Alice half-smiled. “I almost thought of taking in several foster children — one of those crazy things that go through your head. I thought about filling my house full of voices because I don’t have Burl’s voice anymore. Do you know how quiet it is here without Burl going off on first one thing and then another? ‘Read my lips: no new taxes,’ my ass!”
“Burl would have been a Perot man, wouldn’t he?”
Alice nodded. After a brief silence, Bettie led her friend to the answering machine. Alice found the owner’s manual and together the two figured out what needed to be done to record a new O.G.M.
Vicki was the first to hear it. She called while Alice was out buying groceries at Rainbow Foods. Vicki immediately phoned her sister Bonnie.
Bonnie picked up after three rings. Bonnie was playing her stereo. Vicki could hear someone singing in the background, but she couldn’t quite tell who it was.
“Hi, Bonnie. You’ll be happy to know that Mom has changed the announcement on her answering machine.”
“That’s good.” Bonnie sniffed.
“Have you been crying?”
“I was thinking about Dad.”
“What are you listening to?”
“Natalie Cole. She’s singing ‘Unforgettable’ with her father.”
“How can she do that? He’s dead.”
“It’s magic.” Vicki could hear Bonnie blowing her nose.
“Is it on the radio or did you put on a record?”
“I put it on. I listen to it every day.”
“Do you cry like this every time you hear it?”
“No. Just sometimes.” Bonnie cleared her throat. “I’m proud of Mom.”
“I am too.”
“It hurts so bad sometimes, Vicki.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
1993 SHELVED IN NEW MEXICO
“Don’t Stop (Thinking About Tomorrow).”
It used to be Jocelyn’s favorite song. It wasn’t anymore. It was one thing for Ernesto to whisper-sing it into Jocelyn’s ear. It told her that Ernesto was willing to wait, that he understood her situation, that he understood this culture that valued family above everything else — even personal happiness.
But it was something very different to hear it now. Now that Ernesto had removed himself from Jocelyn’s life. The song mocked her. The Clinton campaign had appropriated it for its campaign theme song. The new president had even convinced Fleetwood Mac to reunite — temporarily — so they could perform it at his inaugural ball. This happened only a few weeks after Ernesto and Jocelyn’s break-up. It made Jocelyn want to become a Republican.
The break-up took place in two stages; the first came on Christmas Eve in Albuquerque’s Old Town, when Jocelyn had gone to help her father close up his jewelry shop. She helped her father in the store whenever she could get away. But there were fewer and fewer chances for her to do this. Her mother required around-the-clock care now. This was also Jocelyn’s job — a job for which she didn’t get paid.
Christmas Eve was the exception. Jocelyn’s brothers and older sister came to the house so that they could shower love and attention on the mother they didn’t have to take care of all of the other days and nights of the year. They brought their kids. Luis had even driven up from Las Cruces. Mama could no longer make the Christmas Eve tamales. Luis’s wife Marilyn found an old woman in nearby Mesilla who made them. They tasted almost as good as Mama’s. Almost.