Pam of Babylon (6 page)

Last year, Jack’s father died. He was devastated. He turned to her for advice about how to grieve, how to come to terms with the loss. Three months later, it began. It wasn’t one pursuing the other, but more of a mutual need to be together. They started walking at lunch. He said his doctor warned him about his heart, high blood pressure, and cholesterol. He hated working out. His wife was a gym rat, going there daily for years. But she was in great shape, he had said. He didn’t want to leave her a widow.

The funny thing about it was that once they had sex, it wasn’t a big deal. They just did it. He was okay at it, but there didn’t seem to be any passion. That bothered her and she would have been lying to herself if she said she wasn’t disappointed. She felt passion, but didn’t express it; it would have been too one-sided. She wondered if it was his age so she ignored it. They didn’t go to hotels during the day or anything tawdry like that. Very rarely, he would ask her if she would be able to spend the night with him. He asked to go to her apartment, but she refused and they got a hotel room. She wasn’t sure that staying all night was wise; coming into work together in the morning would raise suspicions. She worried people were already talking.

So it wasn’t the sex; it was just Jack. There was just something about him that drew her to him. She knew it would be short-lived; he would never leave his wife. He made that clear from the beginning. He was madly in love with her. They had two grown kids together. His mother worshiped him. He thought his in-laws did, too. He would never disappoint them by divorcing his wife. He didn’t even know why he was doing it, having this affair, except that he loved Sandra. He told her that. “I love my wife, but I love you. I need you in my life,” he would say. She remembered their last night together. After they made love, Jack lit a cigar, his one concession to vice, and sat up against the pillow smoking. She was curled up at his side. The ash fell from the cigar, and he let it scatter on the sheets. Laughing, she looked up at him and said, “I don’t date men who smoke.”

“You do now, my dear,” he replied.

She finished her tea and roll, and as she got up to put the dishes in the sink, the phone rang. She picked up the receiver and looked at the caller ID, and her heart started pounding right away.
Jack Smith
. Of course, it wasn’t him; it was his wife. But, seeing that name, she had to take a deep breath to pause for a moment before she answered.

8

M
arie was bored. Anne had efficiently taken over the kitchen, so there was nothing for her to do until two that afternoon, when she would accompany Pam to the funeral home. They had picked out a suit, his most beautiful spring suit, made of silk, cut close to the body to show off his new physique.

They still had to choose the casket. Would that make it real for Pam then? Marie thought she was acting a little strange. Granted, she was grieving, but she was not your usual grief-stricken widow. Marie found that she was avoiding her sister. Strangely, her Hell’s Kitchen apartment was where she really wanted to be at that moment, not here, not in this foreign place she had once loved so much. Maybe it was she, and not Pam, who was acting strange.

For one thing, she felt like the house no longer held a single atom of Jack, not his den, his bedroom closet, or even his clothes. It was as though he was spectral dust, and with a strong wind, Jack blew away. Had Pam foreseen this day and systematically removed all traces of him, little by little, so even he didn’t notice? Marie found it hard to believe that she was ever comfortable there. She felt a combination of rage at his betrayal and deep, profound grief at his loss.
Who am I feeling this about?
she thought.
Was he betraying me or Pam? Oh God, there are so many issues to sort out now
. What had been just simmering under the surface had been exposed to be dealt with, at least as far as she was concerned. If he were still alive, she could have dealt with him in her own way, forcing him to confront his wife, exposing the truth. With him dead, it was a nonissue. The years she spent in servitude to her sister and her brother-in-law would go unpaid. She brought this on herself, and now the price would be paid in her wasted life.

Anne and Nelda took some of the food gifts and made lunch for everyone. They all encouraged Pam to eat something. They noticed Marie and tried to get her to sit down and eat, too. But she just couldn’t. All accepted that she too, had a broken heart. But the extent of it, the depth was known only to her. She would have to fake it or risk devastating her sister and their relationship.

At 1:30 p.m., Pam and Marie left for the funeral home together. Getting into the driver’s seat, Pam sighed and said, “I need to go to the train station and pick up Jack’s car.”

“Do you want me to get the key, and we can go get it on our way home? It probably shouldn’t sit there over the weekend,” Marie suggested.

“Oh, do you mind?” Pam said. Marie’s heart rate increased just thinking about getting behind the wheel of Jack’s beloved Lexus. No one ever drove it but him. “It would save time, I guess, since we are already out. I hate to impose.”

“No, I’ll get the key.” She tried to hide her obvious nervousness, her hands shaking and voice trembling. This may be the thing she needed to purge her sadness, to let the tears flow. She wasn’t sure what would do it for Pam, but this might do the trick for her.

She went through the garage to the back landing. There, on the wall just outside the laundry room was a rack with hooks. There was a hook for each of the cars, plus spares. The kid’s car keys were there, an extra for Pam’s car, a key for the lawn tractor, one for the utility truck, and then a large leather triangle with a silver L, Jack’s keys. Marie reached out for it, grasping it with her hand and bringing it up to her lips. Her eyes were closed. She knew she better get back to the car before Pam began to wonder what was taking so long. She would have time to love the key once she was alone in the Lexus. When she got back in the car, Pam was looking at her with concern.

“Are you okay, kiddo? I mean the obvious, right? But will you be okay to go with me? I really appreciate it. I know how much you loved Jack, and he loved you.” Pam was the most generous person Marie knew, but she didn’t know how much Marie loved Jack, no matter what Pam thought.

“I’m okay. I was just thinking that in a few hours, Sharon will be picking Lisa up in Newark.”
A change of subject might make me feel better
, Marie thought, deceiving herself. Sharon was the middle sister, second to last, born one year to the day before Marie. She and her family were coming up from Cherry Hill for the weekend; they were going to come anyway for the picnic but now instead for this tragic event. They would swing by the airport and pick up their niece.

“Thank God we don’t have to worry about airport pickups. I know it must sound crass, but I think having to drive into Newark or to brave the traffic to JFK would have pushed me over the edge,” Pam said. “Jack always did the driving to the airport.”

“How
are
you doing, Pam?” Marie said. Her sister seemed too calm for someone on the way to a funeral home to plan a husband’s funeral. Pam didn’t answer. She was unable to repeat what was really in her heart, the resignation that her marriage was a farce, that she felt more empathy for a stranger, a young woman who had been involved with her husband, than she did for her own children. She was hopeful those feelings would be resolved when she saw the faces of her kids. She knew the calm now, the numbness, would soon give way to the angst of young adulthood in turmoil.

“Do you remember when Daddy died?” she asked Marie. “All I felt was guilt and anger. Guilt because I was cool to him the day before he died, and anger because he allowed his daughters to be taken care of by other men without putting up a fight. I was mad about that for a long time. Mommy would say that I was still mad at him. I’m not sure.” Marie doubted that Pam had anything to feel guilty about it, but wanted to hear more about this other revelation.

“Were you mad at Dad because he allowed me to live with you and Jack?” This was news to Marie if it were true.

“Not mad, because Lord knows I needed you so much but confused, like why are you letting your baby daughter live with us? Are we fit parents for a twelve-year-old? I don’t know,” Pam admitted.

“I can’t imagine what life would have been like if you hadn’t allowed me to come to you and Jack,” Marie said. Silently, she thought,
it would have been unthinkable
.

They pulled into the driveway of the funeral home, driving under the portico. A pale, thin man in a black suit, the funeral home director was waiting for them. Another man came around and opened Pam’s door. They were greeted with a solemn but friendly “We’re sorry for your loss.” The first man led the way through double doors to a strangely decorated entryway. There was a bust of George Washington in an alcove, surrounded with dusty plastic flowers. Marie sneaked a glance at Pam. She tried to contain her laughter. Pam felt the hysteria rising in her throat.

“Don’t make eye contact,” Pam snapped under her breath, grabbing Marie’s arm.
How inappropriate
. She had to pull herself together, laughter struggling to win.

They followed him into an office with upholstered chairs, where he offered each woman a seat. Pam forced herself not to look around. She hadn’t noticed before, but the place was horribly decorated. She hoped Jack didn’t mind, if that were possible.
He was already here for whatever they call it. Embalming, that was the word. They cut your vein and drain all the blood out. You are laid out like roast beef on a slab, naked, exposed
.

The next thing Pam knew she was lying on the dirty carpet of the office. Marie was crying and patting her hand, her cheek. Someone in a powder-blue suit was holding a glass of water to her lips.

“Pam! Pam!” Marie shouted. “Pam, wake up, for God’s sake!” Pam could hear her sister say, “Maybe we should call 911.”

Pam struggled to wake up, to let her sister know she was okay. “I’m here,” she whispered. There was a lot of commotion as people around her assisted her to stand up. She said she would like to use the bathroom, if possible. She had to wash her hands, at least. Get some of the germs off her clothes.

Marie led her to the bathroom, the lady in the blue suit guiding them, leaving them at the door.

“Are you okay?” Marie said to her sister for the tenth time that day, tears near the surface, hovering over Pam.

“I think so. Can we hurry this up? I regret using this place. We could have gone to the one on Main Street. Jack golfed with him, I think.” She was pale, shaky. She washed her hands and wetting a paper towel, asked Marie to help her wipe off the back of her pants and jacket.

Marie giggled through her tears, saying, “What do you think you picked up from that rug?” They laughed, but Pam was not taking any chances. They made their way back to the office with Pam all business.

“Let’s get this over with,” she said to the directors. All pleasantries stopped and questions about Jack’s last wishes began. Marie had a list of things they wanted put in place, like a picture easel, guest book, and a string quartet, as well as things they didn’t want; a video, taped music, and ushers. Marie went out to the car to get the suit in addition to the other necessary items—polished black shoes and a silk tie with frogs printed on it that the kids had gotten him for Christmas the year before. When she returned, Pam had picked out a casket, a dark walnut piece. He would have approved.

The earliest they could do it would be Tuesday morning, a two day wait. Pam wasn’t sure how the kids would hold up. She looked at her watch; Lisa was just landing, and Brent was an hour away. Once the kids got home, she was hoping some feeling would return to her mind and body. She also wanted to be alone with them. That would be tough. Sharon and her family were staying for the funeral. She could hardly ask Bernice to leave. She’d have to find a way to let them know she needed time with the kids.

They pulled up to the house just as Lisa and Sharon’s family were getting out of the station wagon. Lisa saw Pam and ran to her, crying. They embraced. The others walked away, giving them privacy. Marie, hesitant decided in favor of her own well-being and went into the house. Mother and daughter stood holding each other, while Lisa got her emotions under control.

“Oh, Mother,” she said, “I feel so horrible for you!” Pam led her over to the car.

“Let’s get in, shall we? There is a house full,” Pam explained.

“I really am not in the mood to have to deal with anyone else’s emotions right now,” Lisa said.

“I think they know that, honey,” Pam said. “They’ve been leaving me alone.”

“Mom, what happened? I just saw Dad last month and he looked great! I kept saying, ‘Gosh, Dad, look how thin you are!’ Did he know he had heart trouble? Aunt Sharon said someone took his wallet while he was on the train. Did that cause his heart attack?” Pam willed herself not to decompensate. Her daughter needed her questions answered. Maybe she should have invited Marie to stay, dividing the answers between them. She knew she had used her sister for just such issues in the past. Marie acted as a buffer in so many ways for the family. Maybe now was the time to end that. Jack was gone. It was just the three of them. She reached across the center console to embrace her daughter. Lisa started to cry again.