Almost everyone is dressed in black, their murmurs audible over the soothing music coming from the walls. One brave soul, a formidable-looking woman wearing a steel-gray dress, approaches the casket and slips a gift to the deceased. The ice broken, the other mourners form a line behind her.
I know what’s coming. I correct my posture and will myself not to cry.
“Gladys, I’m so sorry. Tad was too young.”
My mother-in-law accepts the woman’s embrace and says, “Thank you for coming, Judy.” Tad’s mother is the picture of refined sorrow. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, her eyes have the merest hint of red, and she dabs her nose with a pressed hankie. I hate her perfection as much as Tad does. Did.
“And who is this, Gladys?” Judy turns her gaze to me, and I shrink. She is wearing expensive cologne, probably something French, and for some odd reason I wonder if this is what hell smells like.
“Tad’s wife.”
I force a smile. I will be polite if it kills me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Anne.”
Judy does not blink, nor does she take her eyes from mine. “I didn’t know Tad was married.”
“About six months ago. Eloped.” Gladys says. My jaw clenches.
At that, Judy’s eyes slide to my stomach before moving over the rest of me. I can see her taking inventory and placing tick marks on a list in her mind. Flat tummy: check. Pantsuit: check. Blotchy face: check. I watch as she places me under the “Unacceptable” column.
“I see why you didn’t tell anyone, Gladys,” Judy says, her gaze returning to mine. Her gray eyes tell me it’s my fault that Tad is dead before she moves down the line to offer condolences to Tad’s brother.
I cannot hate her, because I agree.
I am curled up in bed. I have tacked blankets over the windows, unplugged the alarm clock, and turned off the phone. I do not know if the world exists outside, and I do not care.
A knock sounds on the door. “Anne, are you in there? Are you okay?”
I grimace. My grandmother. “Yes, I’m in here, and what do you think?” I call. Keys jangle in the lock and I groan. Tad never fixed the chain on the door, and so there is no way to keep her out. I curse him in my mind and instantly feel ashamed.
Grandmother sweeps into our-my-bedroom and stops short. “Holy Mary Mother of God,” she says. “How long have you been holed up?”
“I dunno. What day is it?”
She gives me a considering look. “Tuesday.”
“A week, then.”
“It smells like it,” she says as she pulls a blanket off a window, pushes open the curtains, and raises the sash. Blinding light fills the room as a warm breeze brings in the city sounds from below. I try to burrow deeper under the blankets, but Grandmother yanks them off me before I can resist. “Up you go. Get showered and dressed. I’m taking you out for lunch.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say.
“I don’t remember asking if you were. Up.”
I know it is pointless to argue. Sighing, I roll off the bed and walk to the bathroom. Before I start the water to brush my teeth, I hear her rummage through my closet. I stop myself from telling her I am capable of dressing myself. This way I don’t have to see Tad’s clothes hanging useless next to mine.
After Grandmother approves of my appearance, we walk two blocks to the Korner Kafe. We sit outside, and she orders daiquiris and salads for us both. I find that I don’t mind being told what to eat and drink, and I wonder what is wrong with me. I never would have let Tad order my food.
“Tad hates this place,” I say after the drinks are delivered.
Grandmother takes a sip from hers, nods in approval, and says, “Why is that?”
“Pretentious. He thinks it’s someplace his mother would like.” I cry when I realize what I’ve said. “He thought that, anyway. Tad hated this place.”
“I know you’ll find this hard to believe, Anne, but you will survive this.” Her normally brisk voice is soft.
“I’m glad somebody thinks so.”
She gives me one of her penetrating looks, the same one she used to give me as a child when she knew I was hiding something. Back then I could withstand about ten seconds before telling her everything I knew. Age has granted me the ability to last twenty.
“I never asked to be a widow at twenty-five. I didn’t sign up for this.”
“Actually, you did. It’s called a marriage license.”
“Whose side are you on?” I ask, angry.
“Yours, but there aren’t any guarantees in life. You should consider yourself lucky because you’ve learned that lesson early.” She takes a breath and leans back in her chair. “I didn’t pull you out of bed to make you upset.”
“Yeah? Could have fooled me.” I say.
“I wanted to give you these.” Grandmother fishes a red velvet box from her purse and places it on the table between us.
I uncross my arms and open the box. Inside is a pair of topaz-and-diamond chandelier earrings. The stones are flawless, their facets catching the sunlight and sending rainbows onto the tablecloth. “They’re beautiful,” I whisper. I brush my fingers over them lightly and find them warm to the touch.
“They were given to me by Fred’s mother, after he died.”
I look at her, startled. I had forgotten that she was a young widow, too. She is looking at the earrings, but the smile on her face and the far-away look in her eyes tells me she is seeing something else. I close the box with a snap and place it back on the table. “I can’t accept these. They’re special to you.”
She comes back to the present and smiles at me. “They’ll be yours one day anyway, you know.”
“That’s beside the point,” I say. I cannot think of my grandmother dying, not yet. “I’ve nowhere to wear them.”
“Nonsense. You could wear these to the grocery store, provided you have the right shoes.”
“Grandmother-”
“Tell you what. We’ll call them a loan. When you don’t need them anymore, you can give them back.”
I can see there’s no use in arguing. “You’ll have them back next week,” I say as the food arrives.
“I’ll think you’ll be surprised,” she says as she places her napkin on her lap and gives me a wink.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I say as I pull on an embroidered velvet shirt and grab a pair of jeans from the cluttered closet.
“You need to get out of this apartment, Anne. It isn’t healthy,” my friend Pandora says.
“I get out.” I try to keep the defensiveness from my voice without much success.
“Yeah? When’s the last time you bought groceries? Or shoes? That’s what I thought,” she says when I don’t answer. She begins to pick through my jewelry box, and I am reminded of the first time she did that. We were thirteen, and my collection had consisted of rings that turned my fingers green and a single gold cross necklace. She had been appalled at my lack of style. Not much has changed.
“Just because I haven’t bought anything doesn’t mean I haven’t left this place.”
“Whatever. At least you’re getting out now. Today. With me. This movie we’re going to is supposed to be pretty good. That’s what Brad said, anyway.”
“Since when have you listened to your brother?”
“Since he started having good taste. Ooohh, where did you get these?” Pandora holds up the earrings.
“They’re on loan from Grandmother. She says I can keep them as long as I need to.”
“You’re definitely going to need these for at least the next five years. They’re gorgeous! Put them on.”
“Panda! I’m wearing jeans.”
She rolls her eyes. “So wear a pair of heels. Jesus, this isn’t rocket science. Put ’em on.”
I give her a look and take the earrings from her. She rummages through my closet while I struggle with the old-fashioned screw-posts.