The Pirate Queen (8 page)

Gwennie assimilated into a working mode. She pulled out her calendar and wanted to know the dates of his regimen so she could figure out when she could come back.

“His surgery is tomorrow.”

Gwennie said, “Then it must be pretty advanced.” When Saphora did not answer her she said, “This is devastating.”

It was hard seeing her cry.

Saphora lost herself in her thoughts on the drive back to Oriental.

She was making a mental timeline of when it seemed that she and Bender had taken different paths. Bender started cheating when Saphora was pregnant with Turner. He justified it by saying that she was not as interested in sex. But Saphora wasn’t disinterested in sex. Bender was just so—she didn’t know what it was, but he did not know how to woo her. The courtship had ended with the “I do’s.”

One night she could not get Turner to take to his feeding. She sat rocking near the only picture window in the apartment. The moon cast such a bright light that Turner came wide awake. He was such a giggly baby anyway. Saphora had attributed his early sense of humor to a high IQ. He played tricks, causing the milk to flow from her nipple and then drawing back and laughing when it sprayed his face.

Bender got up in the middle of the night to check on her and the baby, or so she thought. Instead, he wanted her to come back to bed with him. She told him the baby wasn’t finished eating yet. He was mad, as if she were using Turner as an excuse.

“Bender, it’s not an excuse. If I put Turner in his crib without eating, he’ll not go back to sleep.”

It was things like that, Bender had said, that let him know she wasn’t interested in him.

Saphora was not sure how many women he had consorted with
over the years. But it had been at least two years since he had touched her. The other wives in their circle of friends comforted Saphora, saying it was best she look the other way. But she had become obsessed with believing in something besides settling.

When Saphora pulled up the drive, Eddie was playing Frisbee in the front yard with the new boy he had met on the beach, Tobias. The boy had not waited long to drop by. A blue bike leaned against the house.

Saphora took one of Gwennie’s bags. Eddie was not accustomed to Aunt Gwennie, so he looked at her more as a curious stranger than a relative.

“Eddie, go and hug your aunt,” said Saphora.

“He doesn’t have to,” said Gwennie. She dug through a bag and pulled out a box. “I brought you a present,” she said.

Eddie bounded for her, hands extended. He opened the box as if he did not already have more stuff than he needed back in Charlotte in his room, each item representing a guilty pang from his mother or father for the separation Eddie lived between.

“It’s a bug holder,” said Gwennie. “Like, you catch a bug in the net, then drop it into the holder so you can watch it or feed it. One of the little bug house walls has a magnifying glass to watch it up close.” She shrugged, more for Saphora’s sake. “It looked educational.”

Saphora coaxed a “thank you” out of Eddie and then said, “Take it to the backyard and share it with Tobias.”

Eddie took off without an invitation to Tobias. So Saphora told the boy, “Go ahead and join him. I’ll bring you lunch so you can have it up in the tree house. Pizza or something.”

Tobias was much calmer than Eddie. He walked up to Saphora and put his arms around her.

Gwennie said she was surprised a young boy would pay so much attention to an adult. She introduced herself to him.

“I’m Tobias. My parents live about ten blocks away. I called first and Dr. Warren told me how to get here. I’ll go and play with Eddie. I’d love lunch in the tree house, Mrs. Warren,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you, Gwennie.” He tracked Eddie to the backyard.

“He’s awfully mature,” said Gwennie.

“We met him at the town beach when Bender made us stop so he could take a walk.”

Gwennie followed through the front door. Bender had set up an office in the downstairs room he called a library. He pored over a procedure manual.

Saphora volunteered to take Gwennie’s suitcase and bag to the guest room opposite the study to give Gwennie time with her daddy. But she left the door open and could conveniently hear them.

“There she is,” Bender said, an old wooden desk chair squeaking as he got out of it. He had always greeted Gwennie differently than the boys. She was his Gwen. There was an elevated intensity all over Bender as if he might break in two at the sight of her. She had not always brought out the best in Bender when she was a teen. But Bender admittedly had not ever been good at relating to young people. Once she had gotten her bachelor’s degree in tow and was well on her way to law school, Bender gained a sudden vocabulary for praise in her presence.

Saphora picked up the suitcase and then the bag and set them on the bed. She opened the drapes covering the french doors while Gwennie sobbed next door. With the extra light in the room, the fine silt was visible that had coated the table surfaces over the seasons the house had been closed up. She wanted Sherry to come and see to
everything after all. She went into the guest bath and pulled a hand towel out of the closet. It took only a couple of minutes to dust the furniture. But as the afternoon sunlight hit the surfaces, she could see her fresh swirls in the wood top. She pulled out a glass full of seashells from the upper closet shelf. She placed them on top of the smudged table surface.

Eddie shrieked from outside.

She ran to look through the glass doors. He was only reacting to Tobias, who had beat him to the top ladder rung and was climbing into the tree house.

Gwennie appeared in the doorway. “You look like you did the night I pulled my first tooth,” said Gwennie, “wincing at the sight of blood.” Crying aged her in a good way.

“I’ve never seen you so sentimental,” said Saphora. “I like it.” She handed her a box of tissues.

Gwennie closed the bedroom door. “Daddy looks fine, Mama. I don’t know what I expected.”

“Surgery and chemo will change how he looks. So enjoy today.” The tabletop did not shine in spite of the steady rubbing she was giving it. How her housekeeper made old tables look new again was beyond her.

“I’m glad you brought him here. It’ll keep him out of the office so he can properly mend.”

“I think he didn’t want his colleagues to see him looking like a patient.”

“Daddy said he wanted Jim overseeing his treatments.” Saphora knew what Bender had told her. But in spite of the distance between them she still knew him better than he knew himself.

“You probably haven’t been in much of a cooking mood. If you
help me, I’ll make pizzas for the boys and something healthy for us,” said Gwennie.

“I don’t care if it’s healthy.”

“I’ll make both.”

The afternoon moved slowly for Saphora. The boys took their pizza up the tree house ladder. Bender joined Saphora and Gwennie for pizzas and salad but seemed relieved that Gwennie was in such a talkative mood. It was like her to rattle along in waves of what had been accomplished, especially in front of her father. She had closed on the condo and paid off her car. Of course, now she was afraid she would have to trade in the car because none of them were built to last. It was a soothing inventory of all things Gwennie.

“You’ve done something to your hair,” said Bender.

That surprised Saphora so much that she said, “That’s nice you noticed.”

“I notice when my daughter’s changed her hair,” said Bender. “That color suits you.”

Gwennie reddened under his approval.

“I just meant it’s not the usual thing you talk about,” said Saphora.

“That’s nonsense. I can make personal observations. What are you implying? I can’t coalesce like you, Saphora? I realize I don’t ramble on like you women are prone to do,” he said. Looking at Gwennie he added, “Present company excluded. But I need the comfort of daily talk just like everyone else.” His voice was growing in volume. “Does that surprise you too, Saphora? That I’m just like everyone else?”

“Daddy,” said Gwennie.

“I’m tired.” He said to Saphora, “Forgive me.”

“It’s not important that you’re like everyone else, Daddy. Don’t
give it a thought,” said Gwennie. “You’re not like everyone else. You’re you. Mama is, well, Mama.”

There was a distinction in the way Gwennie alluded to Bender’s uniqueness followed by the sort of tone that asserted that Saphora was exactly like everyone else; it stabbed Saphora even more than Bender’s comment. “Do we have to compare me to anyone?” she asked.

Bender laughed as he once did right after they were married. It was a laugh he had inherited from his father, who had often gotten Bender to laugh at his mother for some comment he felt proved she was less than intelligent. It was very off-putting.

“I’m going to leave you two to catch up. I’ll wash dishes,” said Saphora.

“You and Gwennie stay and talk. I’ve got to finish my reading,” he said, getting up from the table. He turned and looked at Gwennie and said, “I’m sorry. It’s the pressure of tomorrow that brought out the worst in me. Not your mama.” His cell phone vibrated, so he took it out and said, “I’ll be. It’s Sam the Hammer.” He left the table.

“Who is Sam the Hammer?” asked Gwennie.

“Minor league pitcher for the Tigers,” said Saphora.

“Dad knows a baseball player?”

“They fish and play golf together.” There was a rumor that Sam Hammersley was being scouted for the Cleveland Indians.

Bender held up his hand as if Saphora and Gwennie were talking too loud. He disappeared into the library.

Saphora did not want to respond childishly to Bender, so she fell quiet. He had a history for bringing closure to an argument without apologizing. She used to imagine scoring a winning point. But what was the use? She sat silent. “You don’t have to do the dishes,” she said to Gwennie.

“I want to,” Gwennie said. She went outside to collect the boys’ lunch leftovers.

Saphora stood over the sink. She battled the strangest array of thoughts. She defined it as a mixture of guilt and anger. It was not a new emotion. It was an old resurrected hybrid of emotions she had come to know during the first ten years of their marriage when she could not for the life of her figure out how to win an argument with Bender. His negotiation skills were nearly at a genius level. Even when he brought the matter to a close, there was a nagging cloud hanging over Saphora that said even though his tone had gentled, he used a codified language that only alluded to his need to get on with the night so he could fall asleep listening to Bread.

She revisited the conversation to the point where she had set him off. Then she got angry with herself for having said anything at all.

She looked through the window over the sink and found Tobias hanging upside down out of the tree looking straight at her. He was like a lucky charm for her emotions. She laughed and that set him to clapping his hands as if it had been his intent all along to bring her out of the doldrums.

He tried to pull himself up, but his tiny abdominal muscles would not respond. Gwennie went up the ladder and helped him slide up into her arms. Then he climbed back down onto the ground.

By nightfall Tobias had gotten on his bicycle and gone home.

Eddie said to Saphora, “Tobias told me that his father said he could win the prize for the most pills taken in a day. He had to take more, so that’s why he had to leave.”

Saphora couldn’t figure out Tobias’s illness.

Eddie manipulated Gwennie until she gave in and joined him in a violent video game. The goal of the game was to cut off the opponent’s
head and then win another pail of green goo that gave the victor more power over his enemy. Gwennie’s sorceress kept losing her head. That meant she had to use her potions to restore her own head. By the end of the game, Eddie had taken her castle and all of her servants as slaves. Eddie shouted when his monster changed the sorceress into a whining cat. The game was over.

Saphora stowed the last of the leftover pizza and salad in the fridge, then excused herself. Bender had taken a sleeping pill early on and was snoring quietly in the upstairs bed. Saphora slipped on a pair of white terry slippers she had bought recently and absent-mindedly tucked into her suitcase. She pulled a sweater over her head and walked out onto the balcony. Suction from within and without snapped the door closed behind her.

Night had fallen over the Neuse River. A lighthouse was blowing light across the ocean beyond the hillocks of marsh grass. Saphora swished leaves off the deck bench seat and found solace sitting quietly with no one to ask anything of her.

She could nearly see the house next to them through the fog. The tree-lined fence separating the houses blocked much of her view, but she figured that had been the intent of whoever had erected it twenty years ago. It had come with the house and was one of the features Bender liked, the privacy of a fenced backyard barricaded by deep water. No one to bother him.

Even the night noises were comforting. But then a not-so-distinguishable faint sifting sound began from behind the next-door neighbor’s backyard trees.
Sift. Swish. Sift. Swish
. She figured it wasn’t any sort of insect rubbing its legs in the night air. Maybe a raccoon. Then she decided not. She sat up to see if there was a light on in the house. A rouge of candle glow seeped through the top of the windows
in back of the house. The swishing noise persisted. It might have been something mechanical, but the rhythm was too crisp and uneven, not any kind of noise a machine would make.