Soulmates (28 page)

After the sunset, they sat around the fire and talked about fun things; where they went to school, growing up; Pam in Brooklyn, John in Bayonne. Their Italians grandparents. The food they used to eat.

The wind kicked up and Pam shivered. “I’m going in for a shawl. Can I get you a sweater?”

“Do you have one big enough for me?”

“I think I can find something if you don’t mind a cast off,” Pam laughed. She went in and for the first time that night, she thought about Jack as she went through the few things left in the closet, a sweatshirt someone gave him that he never liked, which she ended up wearing. Pulling a hand knit shawl around her shoulders, she took the sweatshirt out for him.

“It’s clean,” she said, holding it up. “Ross Perot for President.” John roared laughing.

“I plead guilty!”

“No, you did not,” they laughed and started to debate. Fortunately, they agreed on the things about which they felt strongly and the things they didn’t agree on neither cared much about anyway. She discovered he was a man of character, hardworking and self-made. As the night progressed, Pam was more relaxed and talked more about the positive things that had happened for her. What newly wed life was like in Manhattan, having someone like Bernice Smith for a mother-in-law and after moving to Babylon, raising two children alone while their father worked in the city.

“So can I get personal for a minute?” Pam asked. John frowned.

“What have we been doing for the last two hours?”

“You know what I mean,” Pam laughed. “Can I ask you something about your marriage?”

“Of course,” he answered. “My life is an open book, unfortunately.” She nodded.

“Mine, too. Okay, well here goes. Were you ever unfaithful to your wife?”

“Never. I never even thought about doing it,” he answered. “I still go to confession once a week you know. I’m afraid of God.”

Laughing, Pam couldn’t believe it. “You go to confession? Oh, if only everyone had such ingrained faith.”

“Yes, I have faith God will strike me dead if I sin. I’m big on sin just so you know.”

“So what does that mean, exactly? I’m intrigued.”

“What does it mean? Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all, I really want to know. What precepts do you follow? Is that the right word?”

“It’s perfect. I follow the Ten Commandments. Except sometimes, I say the G word when I’m pissed off, but that’s better than yelling
Satan dammit
, and I also covet my neighbor’s wife. Mrs. Brownstein bakes amazing cannoli for a Jewish woman.” Pam was holding her side laughing.

“Do you go to church?” she asked seriously.

“Every Sunday,” he answered earnestly. “I love mass.”

“You do?” she asked surprised.

“I do. I love the candles and the incense, the liturgy of the service. I go to the earliest mass because it’s in Latin.”

“Do you know what they’re saying? You have to forgive me because we were Catholic, too and I too loved church as a child, but I never understood a word.”

“Didn’t you have catechism?” he asked.

“We did. We went to Catholic school, too. But I never was able to correlate the service with what we learned. Finally, my father insisted that we go to church on Saturday night to hear the English service. ‘So this is what they were saying!’”

Pam didn’t tell John her childish faith disappeared when she became aware of Nelda’s alcoholism and the burden of caring for her sisters consumed her life, her grandmother’s presence inadequate. The dark, safe place of the sanctuary lost its significance then. Where was the Jesus who loved the little children when Nelda lay in her own vomit? His love must not be for a little blond girl whose mother passed out at the dinner table. After Jack had died, well-meaning friends said they would pray for her and she could feel an otherworldly barrier erected that would prevent her from receiving their blessing.

That night, Pam made the decision while they sat under the stars with a fire burning and the sparks floating toward the water that she would never speak of the negative in her childhood again. Desecrating her parent’s names, rehashing their supposed wrongs repeatedly as her sisters had done never changed a thing.

“My parents did everything in their power to raise us in the faith. As I said, we went to Catholic school from kindergarten to twelfth grade. But only my sister Susan still goes to mass.”

“It’s free will,” John said. “You choose to believe what can’t be seen, by faith.”

“I don’t think I had much as a child and I certainly don’t have any now.”

John thought for a moment. “This is some deep shit,” he said, finally, gently. “Maybe you don’t have much faith because you are hurting, or maybe mad at God.” Choosing to keep his personal failures to himself, John didn’t tell her he no longer believed what the church taught either, since Cassandra left him, but he had enormous faith in…something; the universe? or maybe fate. Worry for his daughter drove him to continue practicing in spite of his doubts. The fear that Violet might be punished if he withdrew from the church was a powerful motivator to keep going, regardless of how ludicrous and hateful it sounded. And then he thought of Brent.

“I feel like I’m being punished,” Pam said softly, appearing to read John’s mind. She was looking up at the sky thinking,
can you see me? Brent, I miss you.

“I can definitely see how you’d feel that way. You’ve been through a lot. But you didn’t cause it, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Pam listened to what he said, but it was just words. She’d always feel responsible in some way, no matter how small.

That night in bed after John left for home, their conversation about God ran through her mind. Marie’s face as a young child shimmered before her. It was so real Pam felt her presence. The little, innocent face seeking her out, clinging to her, frightened.

“Marie!” Pam cried out. “I’m so sorry. I’m so regretful I didn’t protect you from Jack.” Intense feelings about what they meant to each other welled up in her heart. They loved each other as only two; close sisters are able, unconditionally, but not necessarily without betrayal.

A dark motive drove Marie to act beyond Jack’s abuse. Whether she was competing with Pam or trying to punish her was debatable. After taking Marie’s diaries from Sandra’s house in the pretend home invasion last year, Pam discovered shocking information that left her feeling sad and empty. Once she was able to move beyond her own stupidity, ignoring signs that something horrible was taking place under her roof, she was able to focus on forgiving herself. But first, she had to forgive Marie.

That was the hardest part because when she was well, Marie blamed Pam and wasn’t asking for forgiveness.

“You couldn’t have been that stupid not to realize your husband was in love with someone else.” Initially, Pam believed
she
was to blame, never blaming Jack. It was difficult to blame someone who was dead.

Sadness increasing, Pam thought of her final encounter with Marie. In the last months of her life, she was unrecognizable, the wasting syndrome of the disease transforming her from an ageless, forty-something woman to a skeletal, toothless hag. Unable to bear the sight of her, Pam, heartbroken, didn’t visit, leaving her care to Nelda who was trying to make restitution for the years she neglected Marie. The guilt, of course, was incredible for both women.

Shortly before Marie stopped talking, Pam forced herself to visit at the Smith Mansion. Sitting by the bedside waiting for Marie to wake up, Pam’s anger masked the compassion felt for the horror of what Marie had become, a familiar but grotesque apparition. Looking at her watch, Pam felt terrible about everything that had happened when Marie finally spoke.

“Pam, I’m sorry about Jack,” Marie murmured in a weak, hoarse voice. She was trying to make eye contact, but her irises were clouded over. Shocked, Pam studied her sister’s face as tenderness and love replaced stubborn pride.
Marie was blind.

“What was that Marie?” she asked, bending closer to her, taking her hand. Touching her, memories flooded over Pam. She remembered a young Marie sitting in front of her while Pam braided her hair, or walking with her to the five and dime store to pick out a birthday gift for their mother, always the same thing, a small leather-bound address book or a bottle of clear nail polish.

“Will you forgive me? I can’t die unless you say you still love me.” Marie managed to smile, an exchange of air that Pam correctly interpreted as a laugh. When Pam didn’t answer right away, it wasn’t pride; she was trying to control the tremor in her voice.

“Pam say you’ll
forgive me
,” she gasped. A swift change of heart swept over Pam and she took Marie in her arms, her body little more than bone with skin over it and held her gently.

“I forgive you.”

“I love you, Pammie. You were my best friend. You were my mother.”

“I love you, too Marie. I’m so sorry about everything.” Marie nodded her head, relieved, and relaxing, closed her eyes. She’d never speak in Pam’s presence again.

Heartbroken and still awake at two in the morning, Pam finally gave up trying to sleep, going out to the kitchen to make tea. The surf was wild, waves crashing on the beach with enough force that spray made it to the windows, covering the veranda’s glass sliders in the spray so she couldn’t see out. The den was the next best place to be and as long as she didn’t turn the lights on, she could see moonlight drenched beach through mullioned windows.

Depression, as bleak as any she’d every know rose up to engulf her. “Why now?” she asked the air. It didn’t need a reason, attempting a foothold whenever a chink in her armor was exposed. Even her cheeks felt numb. An ethereal scroll of offenses unfurled before her. Only this time, it was not those offenses done to her, but those she’d committed. It began with looking the other way when she knew in her heart that something was not right between Marie and Jack. Her sister, who she loved more than her own life, suffered a horrible death indirectly because of her. The guilt was indescribable.

The little bit of the day dreaming she’d snuck in during the religious discussion with John was all it took for the first symptom of culpability, self-pity, to sneak in. If she allowed it, its companion, depression followed. And here it was, full blown and ready to ruin a perfectly good night.

“I’m sorry, God,” she said desperately, not hopeful He’d offer relief. A forgotten psalm from her days in church floated through her head,
weeping may endure into the night, but joy cometh in the morning
gave her a small amount of comfort, enough to get her through the next minutes while she breathed through the pain. Slow, deep breaths.
Get through the night, Pam and tomorrow in the daylight, things won’t seem so bleak.

Closing her eyes, she sunk into the couch and sighed. “Thank you, God.”

Chapter 25

Piedmont Ocean Cruises, known for their extravagant dinner presentations with ballroom dancing to follow, required formal dress. Bernice, Nelda and Annabelle loved the opportunity to dress up. The night of the dance following
Annabelle’s Big Reveal
, as they referred to it in future retelling, the women decided to color coordinate with the theme being metals. Bernice wore a stunning silver suit with rhinestone buttons, Annabelle wore a gold brocade sheath, and Nelda, in her usual shirtwaist, outshone them all in copper silk shantung.

“Where in the hell did that come from?” Bernice asked, stunned.

“Jesus Bernie, I don’t have to check in with you every time I leave the house, do I?” She was struggling with a heavy gold chain, fake, but perfect with the dress.

“We’ve been living together for almost five years and I have never known you to shop without either dragging me along or rubbing my nose in it,” Bernice answered. “Was it when I was in the hospital?”

“For Pete’s sake, this is the dress I wore when Susan married that…if you’ll excuse the expression, Piney.”

“Wait. You’re telling me its twenty years old?”

“At least,” Nelda said. “But I only wore it that once and I’ve lost enough weight to wear it tonight. So you like it?” She slowly turned around, her trim calves accentuated by high heels.

“I’d ask to borrow it if I wasn’t a foot taller than you are. You’re gorgeous,” Bernice said, sighing. “You look like you’re fifty.”

“Ha! Now I
know
you’ve been boozing already.” They laughed together as only good friends can do. When Annabelle came out, they did the same thing to her, demanding to know where the dress came from, building her ego, helping her to feel as ravishing as she looked.

“If I try really hard, the image of your pubic hair flying across my stateroom is eradicated from memory, but only for a moment.”

“Will I ever live that down?” Annabelle asked, exasperated.

“Not as long as we’re alive,” Nelda said, joking. “Come on ladies, let’s go. Bernice get in your chair and I’ll push.”

“Forget the chair,” she said. “I’ll walk. We’re dancing tonight if it kills me, and I might even look for a one-night-stand.”

“Well, at least warn us if you do and we won’t barge in,” Annabelle said, sarcastically.

The next day at the pool, Nelda was lying on a chaise in her bathing suit with a straw hat across her face, snoring. She’d had an excellent night dancing with a pilot from the ship, getting slightly drunk, but in a good way. Raymond Alastair from the United Kingdom was going to retire in the United States when he turned seventy-two in six months. Younger than Nelda, he was smitten with her regardless.

“Can I see you tomorrow night?” He asked.

“Is this a shipboard romance? One of those nightmares where the woman is pushed overboard, her body never recovered?”

“Oh, how awful,” he said, laughing. “I hope it will be a romance after I get off this floating casino in two years. I’m in New York every three months for a week. Can I have a standing date?”

“Yes, until someone younger comes along, you can,” Nelda said, happily. “I mean for you.” But he would protest, Nelda telling Bernice later she liked being a cougar.