Olivia (14 page)

He poured himself some brandy and sat in his office staring out the window at the gradually clearing sky until he was too tired to keep his eyes open.
Belinda didn't go with us to the hospital in the morning. She couldn't rise early enough and both Daddy and I thought it would be better not to have her moping about as we waited for Doctor Covington.
"I've got her stomach calmed somewhat," the doctor explained, "and she's eaten. She's resting comfortably."
"How long before you have results?" I asked.
"Another day at least," he said. "I'll be on the phone with Doctor Friedman this afternoon."
I sensed that he was expecting the worst. Why else would he want to confer with a specialist so quickly? I didn't say anything about it to Daddy. We visited with Mother who wanted to know immediately where Belinda was.
"We'll bring her around later, Mother," I said. "She couldn't get herself up early enough and neither Daddy nor I had the patience to wait for her," I explained. I saw the pain in her face.
"What will become of her?" she muttered.
"She'll be fine," I said.
"Of course she will," Daddy agreed. "A young woman who looks like that and comes from a home like ours? How can she not be fine?" he growled.
Mother nodded, but not with any confidence. Our eyes met for a moment and she saw my true feelings. I couldn't lie, not to Mother and especially not about Belinda.
As I had anticipated, the worst happened. It was almost anticlimactic. Sometimes, you can feel tragedy settle in around you. It comes on the wind, a gray beast, heavy with skin of glue, and it sticks to your inner soul, weighing you down, settling like a parasite to suck out your hope and your happiness.
Doctor Covington called us to his office late the next day. This time Belinda came along with Daddy and me. She sat quietly, her face suddenly the face of a five-year-old, full of terror as well as innocence.
"I'm afraid the biopsy was positive, Winston," Doctor Covington began.
"Is that good?" Belinda whispered, a little too loud.
"I'm sorry," Doctor Covington said looking her way, "but no, it's not good. Doctor Friedman thinks we should perform the mastectomy to be followed by chemotherapy."
"When?" I asked before Daddy could finish sucking in his breath.
"We can schedule her this Tuesday in Boston," he replied.
Daddy nodded, his shoulders slumped.
"Then let's do it," he said firmly, but worry tormented his dark eyes.
"We'll move her to Boston later today and begin pre-op," Doctor Covington said.
"Does she know?" I asked.
"Yes," Doctor Covington said. "I don't believe in hiding a diagnosis from the one person it concerns the most," he said.
"You told her? But she'll be so sad," Belinda moaned.
"Actually, she took it rather well," Doctor Covington said. "Your mother looked up at me and said, 'So you'll fix it. I'll blink my eyes and it will be gone.'
He started to smile. Tears came to my eyes. Just like Mother to be that way, I thought.
"That nor'easter the other day," Daddy said with a deep sigh as we left the doctor's office, "wasn't anything compared to the storm ahead."
We followed the ambulance that took Mother to Boston. At times I thought Belinda was more excited about us staying in a Boston hotel, eating in restaurants and having time to do some shopping than she was worried about Mother. No matter how I snapped at her, she continued talking and acting like a child on an exciting trip. Finally, at the hotel, she burst into tears after I chastised her for flirting with the bellhop.
"I'm just as frightened as you are, Olivia, and just as worried. I'm only trying not to think about it. You don't care if you think about it. Your brain is like . . like a castle compared to the little house mine is. I don't have as much room in mine and I'm not as strong as you are, so stop yelling at me!" she pleaded, her face twisted in pain.
I stared at her a moment. She was right, I thought. "Let's not argue now," Daddy pleaded. "We've got to look strong and cheerful for your mother."
"Well, tell her to stop picking on me then," Belinda moaned.
"I won't say another word. Do whatever you want. Make a fool of yourself all day, for all I care," I said. She was satisfied.
Eventually, Daddy gave in to some of her requests and whenever we were away from the hospital, he took her shopping or gave her money to go to department stores herself. The boxes piled up in the hotel room. Running out of ideas, she even bought things for me.
The surgeon told us that the operation went well, but results and prognosis would have to wait until after the chemotherapy. As soon as she had made a complete recovery from the operation, therapy was to begin and that could take place at a hospital closer to home.
The third day after the operation, Mother was more buoyant and alert than we had seen her for a while.
"See," she told us, "I knew the doctors would fix things."
Belinda saw this welcomed buoyancy in Mother as an opportunity to talk about all the things she had bought and all the places she had been. It did amuse Mother, and I began to wonder if Belinda being the way she was wasn't better after all. They laughed a lot and Daddy's spirits rose as well.
He hired a special duty nurse to care for Mother when she was brought home, and for a while it looked like we had come through the storm. Daddy and I returned to a regular work schedule and Belinda picked up where she had left off on her social life. Every night we had discussions about what her future might bring. Our optimism blew out of proportion, I know, because we even talked about having her enroll in one of the better universities. Daddy promised to talk to some of his influential associates and see what he could do.
Mother began her chemotherapy, which in the very beginning was quite devastating. She lost her hair rapidly and was back to being listless and exhausted most of the time. The house began to look more like a wing in the hospital with the nurse rushing about, the paraphernalia to care for Mother's needs, and the doctor's frequent visits.
I almost didn't notice the first days of spring, but Mother reminded me when she asked to be taken out to see her flowers and hear the birds. The daisies bloomed and the petunias spread. Sunlit lawns filled with crocus clusters. The tulips, jonquils and daffodils burst colorfully from the earth. Our trees were full and green, and once again the junipers swayed on the hills in rhythm with the warm breezes. Sailboats were seen more frequently on weekends now. It did look as if the world had come back to life and with it came a reason to hope and be happier, a time to give birth to romance and relationships, a time to expect something wonderful to happen.
However, I was still taken by surprise one day when a young man, Samuel Logan, the son of a man who owned a small lobster boat fleet and distribution company came to visit Daddy, but spent most of his time talking with me. He was a tall, well built man a little over six feet tall. He had devilish green eyes highlighted by his dark complexion and light brown hair. I thought he was by far the best-looking man who had ever shown any interest in me.
"I think it's very nice how you work side by side with your father," he said. "I know from just a few conversations with him that he puts a high value on your service. Most of the women I know are just window dressing. I mean," he added quickly, "there's nothing wrong with looking good. You look real fine, but it's nice to have something more in the package."
I didn't reply and he looked flustered.
"I don't mean package like some sort of merchandise. I mean to say, a more complete person. I guess I'm not the best at expressing myself," he concluded when I still sat there staring.
"I understand," I finally said. His smile flashed on, happiness brightening those green eyes even more.
"Good," he said. "So, what do you say to having some dinner with me tonight?"
"Excuse me?"
"Urn . . . going to dinner. You'd choose the restaurant, of course," he added.
"You're asking me to dinner?"
"Yes, I am," he said firmly. "I would consider it an honor if you would show me about Provincetown. If you're free, of course," he added. "I don't mean to be imposing myself. I mean, if you want to think about it . . ."
"It's not the biggest decision I have to make," I said. "You want something other than seafood, I suppose," I added, sounding too much like a hotel concierge instead of a woman who had just been asked on a date.
He smiled.
"I'm never tired of that, but I do like Italian food." "I know just the place," I said.
"I knew you would. Should I make the reservations?"
"I'll do it," I said. "Come by at seven."
"Seven it is," he said slapping his knees and then standing. "I'm looking forward to it. Well, then, I'll just say good-bye to your father and be on my way."
I watched him nearly stumble over himself to return to my father's office. He waved before he left. I sat there, shaking my head in wonder. I didn't know how long I had been waiting for someone I considered good-looking, someone I knew Belinda would consider good-looking, too, to ask me on a date. It seemed it would never happen, and here it had happened so easily and so quickly it made my head spin. I went in to tell Daddy.
"So he finally asked you, did he?" he said.
"What do you mean?" I began to grow suspicious. "You've been matchmaking again?"
"No, no," he said quickly. "He asked me about you and I said you might consider going out to dinner. That's all. Honest," he replied, lifting his big right palm toward me.
"He wanted to ask me out on his own accord?" "Yes, Olivia, he did. Stop squinting at me like that. Stop being so leery."
"Are we taking over his father's company, Daddy?" He fluttered about his paper work. "Daddy?"
"We might," he admitted, "but it has nothing to do with Samuel Logan asking you to dinner."
"Why do I wonder?"
He shrugged.
"Don't. You're a nice-looking young lady and it's time some nice-looking young man came around, Olivia."
I held him in my gaze until he had to shift his eyes away. I wanted to believe him. For a little while, I thought, I'd be more like my mother and like Belinda. I'd take a chance on my dreams and permit myself to believe in rainbows.
When I went home that night and told Mother I was going on a date, she was very happy for me. It put a little color in her wan face and she sat up in bed to review all my choices for a dress to wear. As soon as Belinda came home and saw me preparing for a date, she became excited, too. It was as if she thought my going out with a man justified everything she had done by suddenly making me more like her. She sat on my bed and watched me flutter about my room, choosing earrings, fixing my hair.
"Why don't you let me do your nails, Olivia? I'm good at it. I did Kimberly's today."
"I never polish my nails," I said.
"Well, you should. Men like a lot of color. You need a darker lipstick."
"I'm not wearing any lipstick."
"Oh," she said laughing. "Then it definitely has to be darker, and you should do your eyebrows."
"I'm not going to start being someone I'm not, Belinda, just because some man asked me to dinner."
"You don't have to change yourself, but you can make yourself more attractive. It's not a sin unless you overdo it," she declared. "You're competing with other women," she concluded.
"What?" I turned on her. "Hardly. I didn't ask him to ask me to dinner. He did of his own volition."
"His what?" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. When you're out with a man, you want to look better than the other women he might see. What's so terrible about it? Just fix your hair differently. Don't let it hang limply, and put on some makeup. Here," she said opening her purse, "try this shade. It works for me and we have nearly the same complexion."
I gazed at it, considering.
"It won't bite you, Olivia. If you don't like how you look, wipe it off."
"All right," I said.
She smiled like some devilish beguiler who had tempted me to take the first steps toward sin.
"I'll fix your hair," she followed and went into the bathroom to get my brush.
"Wait, I didn't say . . ."
"Just sit down and let me do it, Olivia. For once, let me do something for you," she pleaded.
I stared a moment. She looked very sincere.
"Okay," I said. "What's the difference?"
"You'll see. There's a lot of difference," she promised and began.
An hour later when I looked at myself with my eyebrows thinned, a bit of rouge on each cheek, lipstick, my hair neatly brushed and styled, I dared to think I might just be as pretty as Belinda after all.
"You have nothing nice to wear," she declared. "Take one of my dresses. Choose one that's a bit tight across here," she said indicating her rib cage, "and," she whispered, "wear my new padded bra."
"I don't need that. I have a nice enough dress." I showed her the one Mother had approved, a dark blue silk dress with a delicate lace collar. Belinda grimaced.
"It's not very sexy," she said. "It looks like a dress for one of Mommy's tea parties."
"I don't want to look sexy. I want to look decent, proper."
"Boring," she sang, rushed out to her room and returned with the low-cut black evening dress she wanted me to wear. "At least try it on," she said. "With the bra." She held the garments out until I took them. I went into the bathroom to dress. It had been some time since I had been naked in front of anyone, even Belinda. I didn't want her measuring my breasts and studying my waist and hips to see if there was any fat. She had developed faster than I had at her age and her development didn't seem to want to stop, whereas mine hit a plateau and ended.
When I stepped out, she whistled.
"Is this Olivia Ann Gordon? My sister?"
"Oh stop it," I said but glanced at myself in the mirror. I did look sexier than I ever had. It put a flutter in my chest. Did I dare go out in these clothes, looking like this? "I don't know," I said.
"Do it, Olivia. You won't regret it. Show it to Mommy and Daddy, too."
"I don't know," I said again, but I did go into Mother's bedroom. Daddy was there, sitting at her bedside. They both looked up when I entered, Daddy's face full of surprise. Mother smiled.
"You look absolutely beautiful, dear," she said.
"I knew I had two beautiful daughters," Daddy said. "Any man would have to be blind not to notice you, Olivia."
"It's not too much, Mother?"
"No, I think you look fine," she said.
"See?" Belinda boasted. "I did it. I dressed her."
"Which is why I'm not sure," I said but Mother gave me an approving nod. "Okay, I'll go like this."
"Where are you going?" Daddy asked.
I felt my chin drop.