Kiss Mommy Goodbye (18 page)

Mel walked over to Donna and surrounded her with the steadiness of his body. His arms engulfed her, pressing her to his chest. His voice was soft. “You can fight him, Donna. You used to fight him. You can do it again. If you don’t, you’ll be losing a lot more than just your children.”

“My children are everything.”

“No,” he said, pushing her away from his chest but keeping his arms resolutely around her. “They’re a large part of
your life but they are not the sum total of your life. There is still a person in there named Donna who exists quite apart from everyone else.”

Donna shook her head. “No,” she said. “I told you. I lost her a long time ago.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said, looking above her eyes to the top of her head. “Anyone who can color her hair bright carrot-orange has not totally abandoned her claim to individuality.” They both tried to smile.

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist.”

“What are you?”

“A friend.”

She lowered her head and let him hug her against his chest once more.

“Thank you,” she said. “I think that’s what I need.”

D
onna sat with one arm around Adam and one hand on Sharon’s tummy. They sat on the sofa in the far bedroom, a room which served as a den by day and had about a year ago been turned into Donna’s bedroom. The blue print sofa was a pull-out bed, and Donna now sat in the middle of it, Adam to her left and Sharon lying squealing on her back to her right. Every now and then, Adam reached over Donna’s lap and pinched his sister’s toes.

“Adam, don’t do that.”

“I don’t like her.”

“That’s fine. Just don’t hurt her.”

“Tell her to be quiet.”

“She’s not making any noise. You’re the one who’s talking. Now, do you want to watch
Sesame Street
or not?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Then watch.”

For several seconds Adam’s gaze returned to the television in front of them.

“I don’t like her,” he said again, stealing a furtive glance in the baby’s direction. “I don’t want to look at her.”

“Then don’t look at her.”

He stood up and walked over to the baby. Sharon’s eyes followed the path of her older brother. Donna sat ready for any sudden moves. “I don’t like you,” he said loudly. “I will never like you. I don’t love you. I will never love you.”

“All right, Adam, that’s enough.”

The litany continued.

“Not when you’re bigger. Not when you’re older. Never. Ever.”

“All right, Adam, I think she got the message.”

Adam turned to go back to his seat. On his way he managed to bring the palm of his hand down hard on the baby’s forehead. Sharon looked startled but did not cry.

“All right, that’s it,” Donna said, flipping the remote control unit on the large color TV and watching Big Bird disappear. She picked Sharon up and carried her into her room, putting her on her back in her crib, and starting the musical mobile over her head. Sharon cooed and wiggled her appreciation. “You’re such a sweet thing,” Donna said, patting her daughter on the stomach. The child never cried. She couldn’t have hoped for a better baby.

“And now, you,” she said, returning to the den where Adam was screaming and frantically trying to find his way back to
Sesame Street.
“Give me the remote control unit. Come on, Adam, you’ll break it. That’s right. I want to talk to you.” She sat the crying youngster on her lap. “Stop crying. Come on, honey. I want to talk to you.” Adam stopped his squirming and stared at her; his piercing blue eyes exact replicas of his father’s. “I love you,” she began. “You know
that. I love you more than anything in the world.”

“Don’t love Sharon,” he begged.

“I do love Sharon.”

“No!”

“Yes, I do, honey. That’s a fact of life you’re just going to have to get used to. She’s your sister, and she’s here to stay. Now I know that’s not an easy thing to accept when you’re three years old, but that’s just the way things are.”

“But I don’t like her.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to like her. But you can’t hurt her. Do you understand that? She’s a baby and she can’t defend herself. Would you like it if someone bigger came up to you and hit you on the head?”

He felt his head. “No,” he answered.

“Well, she doesn’t like it either. So, no more hitting. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Can I watch
Sesame Street
now?”

“On one condition.”

“What’s condition?”

“A condition is the basis of an agreement.” She stopped. Oh sure, wonderful explanation to give to a three-year-old. Clears everything right up. “Let me put it this way—You can watch it if you let me bring Sharon back in here, and no hitting.”

Adam gave the matter serious consideration. “All right,” he said. Donna lifted the boy off her lap and put him in his original position on the sofa, then she stood up and walked to the doorway, flipping on the TV as she did so. From her position at the door, she heard Adam mutter as Big Bird snapped back into focus, “But I don’t like her though.”

Donna smiled at her young son. You better relax, she
wanted to tell him. It doesn’t get any easier.

——

Victor had been trying not to say anything about her hair for more than an hour. Donna could actually feel the effort involved. She found herself enjoying each minute, knowing he was dying to tell her what he thought of it. She could see the questions as they formed behind his eyes—“For God’s sake, Donna, what did you do to your hair
this
time? You know I’ve always hated black hair unless it’s natural. Otherwise, it looks so phoney. What are you trying to do to yourself anyway? You want to look like Wonder Woman?”

What was the matter with her? What was happening to her? Donna felt herself begin to panic. What had she let happen to herself? Was she really the kind of person whose only enjoyment came from watching another person’s pain? Had she really turned into that kind of a monster? Better someone else’s pain than my own, she heard herself respond. “I think sadism is so much healthier than masochism, don’t you?” Jesus. When had she said that? The party. The night of Danny Vogel’s party. The night—

She looked over at Victor. He smiled at her, lowering the book she knew he was only pretending to read.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“All right.”

He had asked the same question at supper earlier. She had given him the same answer.

“What did you do?”

“Well, obviously I had my hair done.”

“Yes, I see.”

“Do you like it?” The question was pointed and carried traces of a smirk.

“No. You know I don’t like dyed black hair.”

“Your hair is black.”

“My hair is natural.”

“My hair’s natural too. Just the color isn’t.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“I thought so.”

No, she didn’t. Not really. Neither of them had any humor left anywhere inside them.

“What else did you do today?”

She knew how hard it must be for him to carry on a polite conversation. What he really wanted to do was drag her by her newly blackened split ends back to the hairdresser and have at least the top of her head made normal again. But he stayed in his seat. He stayed where he was and listened to her reply.

“I took Sharon in for her six-month check-up. Then I watched
Sesame Street
with Adam. Sharon kind of watched.”

“Dr. Wellington?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, Dr. Segal. I told you I was changing doctors.”

“Dr. Wellington is the best pediatrician in Palm Beach.”

“He’s also the busiest. He doesn’t know if my children are black or white, male or female. Besides, Dr. Segal is
my
doctor, and this makes things a lot easier.”

“Who is he anyway? A nobody family practitioner.”

“I like him.”

“That doesn’t make him a good doctor.”

Donna had said everything she intended to say on the subject. She stood up.

“Are you going to make some coffee?”

“I was going to go to bed.”

Victor checked his watch. “It’s only nine o’clock.”

“I’m tired.”

He stood up. “Please, Donna,” he said, his hands tentatively reaching out for hers. Immediately she tensed and withdrew. He pulled his hands back to his sides. “Couldn’t we just sit and talk for a while?”

“I’m really tired, Victor.”

“Don’t you want to hear about my day?” She could hear the pleading implicit in his voice.

Donna stood as if she had been overcome by nerve gas, unable to move. She didn’t know what to do with her legs. They felt paralyzed. She wanted to run; somehow she couldn’t get her feet to understand. Victor took this as a sign that she would listen to him. “I sold a staggering life insurance policy. You want to know to whom?”

No, she thought. “Who?” she asked.

“One of the men who bought into The Mayflower.” Donna regarded him blankly. What the hell was he talking about? “He was actually at that party the night we met.” Oh, that Mayflower. An Original Concept—For Original Americans. She wished she’d never heard of the damn place.

“I’m going to bed, Victor.”

“Your room?” he asked suddenly.

Donna hoped she didn’t look as startled as she felt.

“Of course,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm.

“I thought maybe—”

“Goodnight, Victor.” She walked past him and out of the room.

It was almost midnight when she heard him come out of the bathroom and go in to check on Adam and Sharon. He did
that every night. Then he would turn around and walk back to his own room and go to sleep. Except that this time she didn’t hear his footsteps receding. She heard them approaching. Immediately, she retreated far down under her covers.

She didn’t have to see him to know he was standing in front of the open door. She could feel him moving softly toward her.

“Donna?” She said nothing. “Donna, I know you’re not asleep.” Go away, her silence screamed. I am not here. I am not here. “All right, you don’t have to say anything. But you
will
have to listen. I’ll do it this way, if this is the way you want it.”

This is
not
the way I want it! I want you to go away and leave me alone. I don’t want to hear any of this. If we were doing what I wanted, you wouldn’t be in here. I wouldn’t have to listen to any of this.

His voice was soft. “I love you, Donna. I’ve always loved you. You know that. I’ve made some mistakes, I admit it. I’ve mishandled certain things. I did them out of love.” Do I have to hear this? Do I have to listen to this? “I’ve tried to be patient, Donna. I’ve let you sleep here, alone, undisturbed all this time. During your pregnancy, I didn’t want to do anything that might hurt the baby, and after, I’ve waited till I thought things were starting to improve between us. For a while, we seemed to be getting along. I kept hoping you’d turn up at our bedroom door, but—” I am not here. I am not here. I am not hearing any of this. “Donna, there’s nothing I can do about that night. It’s over. It happened a long time ago. I’m really sorry it happened the way it did, but you have to understand what you were doing to me. You kept on at me; you humiliated me at the party; you don’t even realize what you’re doing sometimes,
but you just—” Is this supposed to be an apology? Victor, do you honestly believe this is an apology? I’m sorry, but you made me do it? I’m sorry, but be reasonable, Donna, it was all your fault? I am not here. I am not hearing any of this. “Look, it didn’t turn out all that badly after all, did it? I mean, we have Sharon. And I love you, Donna. We’re a family. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Donna. Come on, now, be honest. I really didn’t hurt you. Did I?” You’re right, Victor. You didn’t hurt me. You only put five years of marriage on the end of your prick and rammed them home to me the best way you knew how. I am bursting with the residue of what you left inside me. “Please, Donna. I can’t do any more than say I’m sorry. I can’t make that night go away. It happened. But we can’t let it destroy us. It’s gone on long enough. It’s time we started living in the present, enjoying what we have.” I think I’ve heard this speech before. Something about the ball being in my court. Play or get off the tarmac? “I just want things back the way they were between us before that night.” Back the way things were between us before that night? Are you crazy? You want things back to the way they were before? Don’t you realize that that night was
exactly
the way things were before? You just used a different approach! “Please, Donna, I want my little girl back again.”

Donna felt her body starting to heave. She quickly threw back the sheet and raced to the closest bathroom where she emptied her dinner into the toilet. Then she sat on the cool of the tile floor, her hair matted at her forehead, tears streaking her cheeks, hugging the side of the toilet bowl, until she heard him walk back down the hall and close his door behind him.

——

She awoke at precisely three
A.M.
, as she did every morning. Then she got out of bed and walked toward the kitchen. The counters were dirty, she had noticed while making dinner, and the outside of the appliances. Adam’s fingerprints were all over them. She would give them all a good scrubbing. Make everything shine.

She walked into the kitchen and turned on the kitchen light, then she flipped on the small transistor radio very quietly and got out her Ajax, her Fantastik, and her handiwipes, and started to work. She always worked to the beat of the music. The beat goes on, she thought, applying the Fantastik to the white countertop. Victor had once caught her using Ajax—don’t you know it destroys the finish?—and they had spent a good couple of hours thrashing out that important issue. Yes sir, nothing was too unimportant to discuss ad nauseam in this marriage.

She felt the beat change. Obviously, another record. She adjusted her tempo accordingly.

“—first I was afraid—”

She recognized the song. Gloria Gaynor, she said to herself proudly, singing about her fear of being alone, that she couldn’t live without her man beside her, calling the shots.

It gets faster in a minute, she thought, her hand poised and ready to wipe. Any time now, just another few bars and the woman would be singing about how, surprisingly, after he’d left she’d learned how to survive on her own.