Starting from Square Two (24 page)

“It bothers you that a woman talked back!” Erika called behind her. “You thought you could mouth off for no reason.”

Once Erika, Gert and Hallie got far enough away, Erika looked back.
“Pimp!”
she yelled. Then they all ran down to the subway.

“You're stupid!” Hallie said, panting as they went through the turnstile. “You could have gotten us killed! What if we see them in the middle of the night somewhere?”

“We won't,” Erika said.

“How do you know?” Hallie said. “I don't feel safe anymore. What if we bump into him in the street?”

“That's what he
wants
us to think,” Erika said.

“What if he'd tried to hurt us?” Gert added. “What if he'd had a knife? Did you want to die being right?”

Erika said, “He shouldn't go through life thinking women are bitches if we don't do exactly what he wants.”

 

It was only later, when they were recouping with coffee at a diner near Hallie's apartment, that Erika admitted that she wasn't sure what had gotten into her.

“I think I'm losing it,” she said. She put her head in her hands. “I just couldn't let it go. When he said ‘bitch,' something in me snapped. I'm just tired of everyone being an asshole.”

Hallie shook her head. “I always think the world is this wonderful place,” she said. “And then I remember how you have to always be careful. We could have gotten hurt back there, easily. I don't like being so cynical, but something like this sends you back to the beginning. I should start taking tae kwon do again.”

“I think martial arts just give you a false sense of security,” Gert said. “If someone's stronger than you, they're stronger than you. Ever tried to wrestle a guy? It doesn't matter if they're short or scrawny or quiet. They pin you in two seconds flat.”

“When have you wrestled a guy?” Erika asked her.

Gert thought. Her brother. And Marc. A guy on her floor freshman year when most people were home on break. It hadn't gotten far, in that case. But it was fun.

“Self-defense teaches you to act only as a last resort,” Hallie said, looking at Erika. “
Some
of us could use that training.”

Gert pushed her skirt down again. She still felt cold and ashamed. She thought that the world wasn't set up to get through without someone to protect you. That guy would never have said anything to her if Todd had been there.

Where
was
Todd, anyway? She wanted Todd. She needed Todd. Why deny it?

Slumping over on the subway going home, trying not to think too hard, Gert hoped there would be a message from him on her voicemail when she got there. She had given him enough time. At least she hadn't sat home all night waiting for him to call.

But there was no message.

S
aturday morning, the phone still hadn't rung. She was grateful for the widows' support group. It would go until almost lunchtime, and by that time, Todd probably would have left a message about dinner.

When Gert left the condo, bright sunlight was making sharp tree-shaped shadows on the sidewalk. She stepped carefully around them, thinking that if she were a kid, she would take fat pieces of chalk and trace them.

She wended her way to the corner, around planters and street signs, and that was when she saw him. It was his brown hair. And his haircut.

Marc.

He was just a few feet ahead of her….

The guy turned around.

It wasn't Marc, of course. Gert's heart dropped.

She had seen look-alikes before, on the way to the supermarket or to work, and they'd caused an instant jolt that scrambled her brain. It could be the haircut, or the eyes, or the curve
of their mouth. Whenever she saw them, her heart lifted for a second, then plummeted.

It wasn't as if she thought Marc was alive. It was just that she'd gotten that little surge she always used to get upon seeing him. Only now, it simply reminded her that it couldn't possibly be him. It never would be.

 

The community center was quiet, its horizontal shades pulled low. There was a huge kids' calendar on the wall, made out of construction paper, and on top of it, it said, “March goes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.” Gert thought it was supposed to be March
comes
in like a lion. But the more she looked at it, the less sure she was. She'd learned that in elementary school, and now she couldn't remember. A sure sign of old age.

Chairs were squeaking into place. Gert sat down. She remembered how foreign she'd felt the first day she came to the group. Support groups had always been for other people, not her. They had been something to joke about. “The first step,” Marc's friends had said, “is admitting you have the problem.” Support groups had been things to make fun of on
Saturday Night Live.
Support groups had been things for people on the news or movies of the week. Support groups were for the people her mother helped through whatever fund-raiser her busy-body friends were running and enlisting her in. Support groups were for Victims. Gert had never been a Victim. It was far better to be the one who helped than the one who needed the help.

As much as the group helped her, as much as she got along with the women, she'd never lie and say she wanted to be there. It was not about having fun. It was about surviving. And what was surviving? Solely the act of not giving up.

The only real living she'd done lately was with Todd. And now that might be gone, too. There was still much surviving to be done.

 

Gert adjusted her pocketbook securely below her chair—even in a safe space you could never be too careful, so she wound its loop around one of the chair legs. She caught some movement out of the corner of her eye.

Chase was coming into the room.

Gert sat up and waved to her. Chase smiled and sat down next to her.

“Where've you been?” Gert asked. “I've been wondering if you're okay.”

“I'm okay,” Chase said. “It's just—”

“Ladies,” Brenda said. “It's time to begin.”

“I'll tell you later,” Chase whispered.

 

It was a tough session, full of tears. Michele said that weekend was her wedding anniversary. That spurred talk about anniversaries and birthdays. Brenda said that for her husband's birthday, she'd celebrated by baking his favorite kind of layer cake, lighting a candle, and eating it alone. Everyone said they would have joined her if she'd told them. But Brenda said she
wanted
to be alone. And she wasn't really alone, she said, because she felt like her husband was in the room. She said that when she finished singing happy birthday to him, one of the candles went out. Gert, although chiding herself for her cynicism, wondered why Brenda had left her window open in the middle of March.

Chase just sat there, quiet. Gert wished she would talk. Maybe if Gert said something, it would get Chase to open up.

“I saw a look-alike the other day,” Arden said.

“I did, too,” Gert said. “Actually, this morning, on the way here.”

Arden shook her head. “Does yours live on your street?”

“I don't think so,” Gert said. “This one was new.”

“Mine lives near me, and I've seen him a dozen times,” Arden said. “And
still,
I always think it's Steve for a second.”

Gert thought that the idea that time would heal things was
crap. Other things might happen in your life to compete for your attention, to take your mind off your loss for longer periods, but the pain would still be there, surging up at unexpected moments. An anniversary, birthday, or cruise brochure would make it spike.

Toward the end of the session, Chase finally spoke. “Something funny happened this week,” she said.

Gert looked up.

“I think the last time I came here, I said I was still crying a lot,” Chase said.

“We remember,” Michele said.

“Even the littlest thing would start me off.”

“I've been there,” Leslie said.

“Well,” Chase said, “last week, instead of crying uncontrollably, I started laughing uncontrollably, and it was over the dumbest thing. I don't think I've laughed that hard in ages.”

“What happened?”

Gert noticed her hesitate a little. Gert thought Chase probably was the type who alternated between scared and strong. Gert saw that in herself, sometimes.

“I was looking at one of those widow support groups on the Internet,” Chase said. “This one had a list of dumb things people say to widows.”

“Oh, God,” said Michele. “Those are terrible.”

“Some of them were worse than anything I've heard before,” she said. “Things like, ‘At least you got the insurance money' and ‘What are you going to do with his car?' So I was reading down the list, and this one woman said that she had been talking with friends at a party, and they brought up the fact that her husband had died a year ago doing construction. And a guy who was standing in the group said, ‘Shit happens.'”

Chase laughed and rubbed her eyes. A few other women laughed.

“I know it wasn't funny,” Chase said. “It's just, it was so much worse than any of the things I've heard, so it caught me off guard
somehow and it made me laugh. And then I just let myself keep laughing.”

“That's
good,
” Brenda encouraged.

“I'm not saying I won't still cry all of a sudden,” Chase said, “but it was the first time in a long time that I had a good laugh.”

Everyone started clapping.

 

When the meeting started to break up, Gert didn't want to lose another opportunity. “How are you?” she asked Chase again.

Chase picked up her pocketbook, but didn't get up to leave. “I'm fine,” Chase said. Then she smiled shyly and looked at the ground. “Well, not really fine. I'm just used to saying that. You know how it is. Every day, there's some new thing to deal with.”

“I know,” Gert said.

Chase didn't seem to know what to say. So Gert said, “We should get lunch sometime. It might be neat to talk about it.”

“Really?” Chase said. She seemed pleased. “I'd like that.”

Gert figured she could ask Chase then where she'd been for six weeks. She looked through her purse for a business card, but she realized she'd given the only one she'd kept there to Todd.
Jeez,
she thought.
I'd better get used to giving my number to people.
Marc had been the real networker. She wrote her number on the blank sheet in the back of her appointment book that said “birthdays” but never got used. She ripped it out. “Do you want to do it during the week?” Gert asked. “Or on the weekend? Where do you live?”

“Park Slope,” Chase said, “but I'm thinking of moving. It's too big for just me, and this friend from college is moving to New York and I think she wants to live with me. But she's a partying type, so I know she'll drag me out to bars. I'm not sure I'm ready for that.”

Gert smiled. “We'll have to talk about that,” she said. “I happen to have some experience in this particular topic.”

I
t could end up being one of the most important nights of Gert's life.

Gert didn't think she was exaggerating. Didn't all encounters with the opposite sex during your twenties have a potential impact on the rest of your life?

Todd was coming at six to take her out. He'd left a message that morning saying he'd pick her up at her condo. They'd already decided to go out for Greek food in her neighborhood. During the call he'd sounded fine but harried. She didn't know if there was a breakup speech coming or not.

She had to make sure she'd look good for him.

Hallie had told her to wear boots. “They're witchy, but sexy,” she'd said. “They always work for Erika.” Gert didn't have sexy boots, and she wasn't about to run out and buy some. But she had a blouse that fit her tightly, without looking slutty. She didn't think Todd had seen it. And she would wear the cute skirt from the night at the movies, even if it had made her feel bad. She thought about the fact that she was trying to seduce
someone a year and a half after her husband had died, and she had to look away from the mirror.

Stop it,
she thought.
Stop it. Your life will never change if you think like this.

She cared about Todd, regardless of her feelings about anyone else. She didn't want to lose him.

She finished getting dressed. She put makeup on. Todd had to want her intensely the moment he saw her.

Looking in the mirror again, she thought she had overdone it and she wiped some of the makeup off. Todd hadn't seemed to be into makeup. But after she wiped it off, she thought she should put some of it back on.

Her nose was running. She went into the bathroom to wipe her nose and wash her face. Then she reapplied some of the makeup.

Finally, at five, she was satisfied.

But what if it was for naught? Was she getting dolled up for a guy who wasn't interested? What if Todd stood there, looking at her in her skirt, and broke up with her?

She tried not to feel as vulnerable as she looked.

 

Gert decided to put on a game show. She sat on the couch to watch. She remembered the Saturday nights her parents had gone out when she was little, how she and Henry had sat on the couch all night with the baby-sitter watching TV, even though there was never anything on because the networks expected everyone intelligent to be out on a Saturday. They always had to settle for
Solid Gold
and the
Tim Conway Show.

Gert wondered if Todd remembered those shows.

She looked at the clock—5:40. She didn't want to move, lest she muss herself. It didn't take much.

She stared at the TV again, keeping perfectly still. She thought of women in the fifties who sat home waiting for the phone to ring. How desperate she was. How unliberated.

So what?
she thought.
You have to compromise if you want to get something important.

On the game show, the host said to the contestant, “It says here that you're the youngest of six children.”

“Yes,” the contestant said.

“What was that like?”

“By the time I got hand-me-downs, they were back in style.”

The laugh track roared. The doorbell rang. Gert gulped. She got up, smoothed her skirt, and took baby steps to the buzzer.

 

Todd looked surprised when he came in. He lit up when he saw her. “Wow!” he said. He gave her a hug. “I don't know how I got through these last few days without seeing you.”

She held him tightly. He said into her ear, “I missed you. I have something for you.”

He had one hand behind his back.

I've been acting crazy,
she thought.
Maybe he would have been happy to see me any way I looked.
But she decided the effort was worth it. Maybe she had needed to remind herself to not take him for granted.

“It's chocolate,” Todd said, pulling away and presenting a black box with a big bow. “Straight from Binghamton.”

“Didn't know Binghamton was a chocolate town.”

“They have this wonderful candy store on Water Street,” Todd said, closing his eyes. “Some days, the smell wafts through the entire town.”

“It sounds great,” Gert said, snatching the box.

“It is. I'll take you sometime.”

Gert sat on the couch with him to open the package. There were black and white truffles inside, and one that was white with red stripes. She picked out that one and offered it to him. He shook his head and motioned for her to eat it.

She popped it into her mouth. It had peppermint inside.

“Mmmm,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Good?”

“Oh, yeahhhh.” Her mouth was full of truffle. She chewed and swallowed. “How was the hotel?”

“Same as always,” he said. “Mostly I slept. I missed you, though. I was dreaming about you.”

“Really?” she said. “What was I doing?”

“Can't remember.” He was honest, as always. “Do you still want to go out? It might be nice to stay in. We could order takeout and have some wine. Well, you'll have the wine. Unless you had your heart set on Greek.”

She shook her head. It flattered her that he wanted to stay in now. “You can decide,” she said. “You've been working hard.”

“You're the one who waited for me.” He stood up and took her hand. “Let's stay here. I'll go downstairs and pick up some cherry ginger ale for me and wine for you.” He pulled her up, off the couch.

“We still have the bottle you brought last time.”

“We do? Good.”

 

Around two in the morning, she woke up.

He was sleeping next to her. His wavy hair was a mess, and his face was relaxed, almost smiling.
He must be dreaming,
she thought. She liked this. One of his hands was on the sheet, near his mouth, a bit babylike.

It was so cute.

Earlier, she had confessed about how worried she'd been when he'd broken the dates. Todd said he'd been frustrated that he couldn't see her those times. He'd been angry with himself, he said. Gert thought that that might have been why he'd sounded short with her.

Still, she knew Todd hadn't fully understood how he'd come across. He seemed pretty clueless about the way it had seemed to her.

But she wasn't going to push it. Maybe he just wasn't experienced enough to know. He'd have to learn.

Then again, what if he was just covering up? Instead of thinking that things were back to the way they were a week ago, maybe Gert should still be on guard. Maybe she should stay suspicious, keep worrying about how she looked and everything she said.

She just had an instinct that Todd wasn't the type to hide things. She'd always had good instincts about people. All her life. But how could she ever really know for sure? How could you know about any guy? Could she even have been one hundred percent sure about Marc?

She watched Todd move his arm to his side in his sleep. He looked so peaceful, yet handsome. She wasn't sure that she could go five days without seeing him again.

But it would be up to him, wouldn't it?

It's always up to them,
Gert thought. Guys complained that women had the upper hand, but women seemed only to have the upper hand about maybe whether to have sex. All the decisions getting to that point seemed to be men's, she thought.

She wanted to know if Todd would stick around. What made something a relationship, exactly? The fact that they weren't dating anyone else? The daily phone conversations? Sleeping over?

She needed something more concrete than a candy box.

She didn't want to think about it anymore. She just wished Todd would say something. She didn't want to be the one to bring it up.

She thought again of Michael's wedding. What a mess that would be if she brought Todd.

But maybe she should.

Then again, she didn't even know if Todd would still be with her by then.

She needed a sign.

 

Gert stirred uneasily. She heard the clock radio humming. She wanted to go back to sleep. But she wasn't tired.

She couldn't stare at Todd anymore, nor at the clock radio. She got up. The Internet was always there for times like these.

She tiptoed through the hall into Marc's trophy room. She kept the light off and shut the door gently behind her. The moon was out, and it cast a glow over his desk.

Gert looked at the houses across the way, especially the one
with the unlit Christmas lights. She imagined the little blond-haired girl upstairs sleeping, snug under the covers. Everyone should be doing that right now.

Gert yawned and waited for the Internet to load. The bright screen lit up the whole room. She stared at the browser field. Often in the past, when she was lonely, she'd thought that there must be something out there in cyberspace to assuage her loneliness—but usually, there wasn't. Cyberspace was overrated, she thought. She was reminded of the Bruce Springsteen song “Fifty-seven Channels and Nothing On,” only in this case, it was fifty-seven million Web sites and nothing worthwhile.

Well, there was one thing: discussion sites for widows. They had proven helpful in the months after Marc had died. It was useful to read how other people found ways to tackle the same challenges she did.

Nowadays, she occasionally logged in and answered posts from other widows. That way, at least one good thing was coming out of what had happened to her. After Marc had died, there had been times when she wondered what the point of her going on was. Did the world really need one more miserable person tromping through it for fifty years? But if she could help other people, there was still a point.

The site generally had a lot of people popping in and out. They came a few weeks after their loved one died, posted a ton of messages—“This happened to me, did this happen to you?” “Is it normal to feel this way?” “When will I start feeling better?”—and then moved on.

Gert scrolled down for messages that didn't have replies.

A girl named Kora31 had titled her message “First-time poster.”

Gert replied:

Gert hesitated for a second before writing Dave's name, then chided herself. She had heard so many friends hesitate before saying Marc's name. They would go as far as to rework entire sentences so that they lacked a subject. They'd say things to her like, “Wasn't that the time when…your room got painted?” rather than “Wasn't that the time Marc painted your room?” That was the one thing Gert liked about Hallie—Hallie had never flinched when talking about Marc, or uncomfortable topics in general.

Gert read on. There was an unanswered message that was from two hours ago. It read:

Gert had heard that one, too. She wrote back that she sometimes thought about what Marc would have been like at different ages, how he would have been as a father, a boss, a forty-year-old, the coach of his son's Little League team. Marc would have gone on to do so many wonderful things. There was so much ahead of him. Gert would always miss him as she went through each stage.

 

Another post simply awed her. It said:

Gert wanted to print that one out. But she hadn't replaced the ink cartridge in the printer in ages.

The last post that Gert responded to was just one of the sad messages that someone had typed for a loved one's anniversary. It said:

Gert responded, “Chris sounds like a great person. You're right—it is all of our loss.” Sometimes people needed to hear that they weren't mourning someone alone.

There were posts about stupid comments and posts about finances and posts about what to do with a late husband's be
longings, but nothing about dating again. She sat in Marc's gray office chair and swiveled a little.

Then she remembered Colin, the kid whose grave was near Marc's.

She typed his name into a search engine and came up with fourteen entries.

The top one was an obituary from his hometown newspaper. The article mentioned that Colin had had a Web page.

Gert typed in the address. The site materialized on her screen.

At the top, it said, “This site was last updated: Aug. 30, 2001.”

It had pictures of trips Colin had taken, of family members, and of college. There was a calendar of silly days like National Pug Day, and a list of “Colin's links.”