Waiting to Exhale (13 page)

As usual, there were no people on her mother's street. Not even so much as a leaf was on the sidewalk. The lawns, manicured to perfection, looked like green velvet. The palm trees all had bushy heads and were straight in a row. Not a single car was parked next to the curb, because it wasn't allowed. Bernadine pulled in front of her mother's town house and honked the horn. It was an adobe, a reddish-brown brick that looked as if it had been dipped in acid. All the houses on the block were identical. When her mother first moved here, the same white-haired white woman answered the door on three different occasions before Bernadine realized she had rung the wrong bell.

Geneva came to the door and put her hands on her hips. As warm as it was, she was wearing a lavender jogging suit. It looked like she had on new glasses too. At sixty-four years old, if her hair hadn't been completely silver, Geneva could probably have passed for fifty. There was hardly a wrinkle on her face. Last year, Bernadine had convinced her to stop dying and relaxing her hair, and now it was natural, curly and short. She'd always been a husky woman, so Geneva watched what she ate, walked a mile every other day, and went to a water aerobics class three times a week. She practically lived at the mall, and Bernadine was glad when somebody there finally showed her how to put her makeup on right. These days, Geneva always looked good. Bernadine found it truly amazing that her mother was better-looking than she was. Wasn't it usually the other way around?

"Well, this is a surprise," Geneva said. "What happened? You called and there was no answer?"

"No," Bernadine said, and got out of the car. The kids were already running toward the door. "Hi, Granny!" they both yelled.

"Hello, my little dumplings. What's wrong with this girl's hair?"

"I didn't have time to comb it."

"You have time for everything else. You need to make time."

Bernadine didn't want to get into it with her today. She was not in the mood and wanted to nip this in the bud now. Geneva was always finding fault with her parenting skills and brought it to Bernadine's attention every opportunity she got. "Would you mind if the kids stayed with you for a few days?" she asked.

"Where you going?"

"Sedona. John and I are taking a little hiatus."

"How many days is a few?"

"Four or five."

"And what are they supposed to do about school? You know I can't drive that far two days in a row, let alone four."

"I'll call the kids' school and tell 'em they'll be out for a few days."

"It's Rodeo Days, Ma," John junior said. "We only have three days of school next week."

Bernadine had forgotten, but that wasn't what she was trying to remember. "Good. Then you guys can have the whole week off."

John junior jumped up and down, but Onika was clearly upset. "I wanna go to school," she said.

"Be quiet," he said to her. "First grade isn't a big deal."

"It is too, and I'm the Special Person this week."

"It's week after next," Bernadine corrected her. "Two days after your birthday."

"Is everything all right?" Geneva said to Bernadine.

"Everything is fine. We just need a break."

"Now tell me again. Exactly what day are you planning on coming back?"

"Late Friday or the first thing Saturday morning. Is that okay?"

"My golf lesson is at eight on Saturday, and I won't mind so much if I miss that, but don't make me miss that bus to Laughlin. It leaves at ten sharp."

"You're going to Laughlin again?"

"Why not? Last time, I won ninety-three dollars. I have a good time in Laughlin."

"Believe me, Ma, I know. I'll be back-I mean, we'll be back long before your bus leaves."

Geneva gave her daughter a questioning look. "You coming in, or are you gonna stand out here and burn up?"

"I think I should head back. I need to pack."

"Where's John?"

"He should be on his way home."

"You sure you're gonna be able to stand being up there by yourselves for four whole days?"

"Yes, Ma." Bernadine knew what she meant. Her mother never liked John from day one. Geneva wasn't one to bite her tongue and, a couple of years ago, came right out and told Bernadine that she let John control her too much. "Some women just let a man take over their mind. If you do that, what's left? I'm just waiting for the day to come when you tell me you're divorcing him. But knowing how he is," Geneva had said, "I figure he'll probably be the one to leave."

"Get away from those flowers," she said now to John junior. "And come here." He sauntered over to his granny, and she ran her hand roughly over his head. "You need a haircut. When was the last time your daddy took you to the barbershop?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Did you bring these kids something to wear?"

Bernadine reached in the back seat and got Onika's Barbie overnight case and John's Spider-Man backpack. The kids ran over to the car and grabbed their respective bags. "All right, you two. I want you to behave, listen to your granny, do whatever she asks you to do, and don't get on her nerves." She bent down and gave them both a kiss. "I'll see you in a few days. Love you."

"Bye," they said, and ran back toward the house.

"Stop that running," Geneva yelled.

Bernadine waved as she drove off. She popped Raffi out and put George Winston back on. The whole car smelled like barbecue sauce. She turned around; Onika had smeared it all over the back seat. French fries were on the floor, and those Happy Meal boxes were sitting side by side, next to a few loose McNuggets.

Before she got on the freeway, she stopped at a Circle K and bought three more packs of Kools. It seemed as if it took her only a few minutes to get home, but it was closer to forty. When she got near her house, she reached up to the sun visor, pressed the Genie, and turned into her driveway as the garage door opened. She parked next to the Cherokee, which was next to John's 1949 Ford, which he kept covered. Bernadine sat there listening to the car idle for five or six minutes. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel. She didn't want to get out. Didn't want to go into that house and face the empty rooms. But she had to. She wanted to know what being by herself was going to feel like. She started crying. Then stopped. Then she cried until her heart literally hurt. She took a napkin from the glove compartment, blew her nose and wiped her eyes, and said, "Get out of this car." She grabbed her purse, pressed the Genie again, and heard the garage door slam shut before she got inside the house. "Hello," she yelled. The reply she got was her own echo, because the great room-the southwestern term for a gigantic room in the middle of the house that served as the living, dining, and family room-had brick walls, sixteen-foot ceilings, and thick concrete beams.

She sat down on the couch, feeling the leather stick to her thighs, opened her purse, and got out her cigarettes. She lit one. And smoked it. Then she lit another one and slid the pack of Kools and the matchbook in her shorts pocket. Bernadine looked at the stone fireplace, which was almost big enough to stand in. There wasn't a trace of ash in it. She scanned the entire room but then stopped. Everything was too goddamn perfect. She was tired of seeing it all, so she stood up and looked down, counting fourteen of the rust-colored tiles before she reached her bedroom. She shut the door, fell on the bed, kicked off her sandals, and closed her eyes, but they popped back open. She was staring at the ceiling. Bernadine saw the number 732. It wasn't written on the ceiling; it was written in her mind. That was how many times John had told her they had made love. She remembered when the figure was 51, and how shocked she was that he'd actually been counting. But after a while, nothing he did surprised her.

She couldn't keep her eyes closed, because they weren't tired. Feeling antsy, she got up and took a Xanax, came back out, and looked at the bookcase, which took up a whole wall. Close to a thousand books, most in alphabetical order, sat on the shelves. John insisted that this was the only way he'd know how to get his hands on a book if he wanted it. There was too much order in this damn house. Everything in the right place. She opened John's closet. His shoes were all lined up nice and neat. His shirts were grouped by color: white, beige, light blue, pink. The suits were in order by designer, starting with Adolfo; sports jackets, trousers, ties too. He had a fit once when he discovered one of Bernadine's blouses mixed in with his shirts.

Now she found herself standing inside the closet, snatching his clothes off the hangers and letting them drop over her arm until she had so many she could hardly carry them. She left the bedroom, went through the great room, picked her keys up from the kitchen counter, and pressed the garage-door button on the wall. She walked out into the driveway, dropped the pile of clothes on the pavement, went back into the garage, got behind the wheel of the BMW, rolled all the windows down, then backed the car out and away from the house. She opened the rear door and threw the pile of clothes on the seat. Bernadine made six more trips before all of John's hangers were empty.

At his side of the dresser, she opened the top drawer. His underwear was folded nice and neat, just the way he liked it. And she should know, because it was her job to make sure his sleeveless undershirts weren't mixed up with the undershirts with sleeves. The V-necks not mixed up with the crew necks. Boxer shorts not mixed up with briefs. Socks were arranged from their opaqueness to their brightness. She put them all in a trash can and proceeded into the bathroom, where she threw every toiletry he owned-including his toothbrush and electric shaver-on top of the socks. When she came back out into the bedroom, she spotted an empty shopping bag, went over to the dresser, and pushed all his bottles of cologne inside it. She heard glass break. On this trip she ran through the garage, before the wet bottles could fall through the bottom. When she hit her baby toe on John junior's roller racer, she remembered the shoes. Onika's little red wagon was over in a corner, so she made three more trips and, on the last one, stopped to pick up a can of lighter fluid. She threw the shoes on the floor of the car, then squeezed at least half the can over the huge heap that had formed in the front and back seats. She pulled the wagon back into the garage, went into the laundry room, washed her hands, and walked outside again. Bernadine then reached into her pocket, got out a cigarette and the pack of matches. She struck the match, tossed it inside the front window, and stepped away from the car. On her way back, she struck another match and lit her cigarette. She heard the fire erupt but wasn't interested in seeing it, so she pushed the garage-door button and returned to the house. When she got to the bedroom, Bernadine picked out a book-Almost Midnight-climbed back in bed, and finished her cigarette.

She must have dozed off, but she heard the sirens. One of her nosy neighbors up the road had probably driven by, and thinking the car was going to explode, the way they always do on TV, called the fire department. But Bernadine hadn't heard any explosion. When the doorbell rang, she got up to answer it. She peeked through the glass and saw a fireman standing there. After she opened the door, she smelled smoke. Hot metal. Burnt rubber. Fumes. But the car was still black and recognizable.

"Ma'am, were you aware that your car was on fire?"

Bernadine didn't answer him.

"Did you start this fire, ma'am?"

Bernadine didn't answer him.

"Well, ma'am, it's against the law to burn anything except small amounts of trash in your own yard."

"It is trash," she said.

"You know what I mean, ma'am. It should be in some kind of receptacle."

"I wasn't aware that burning your own property on your own property was against the law."

"Yes, ma'am, it sure is. Why would you want to burn up a brand- new BMW?"

Bernadine didn't answer him.

He looked at her apprehensively, because he knew exactly what she'd done. "Look," he said. "This is a pretty nice neighborhood you live in, and one of your neighbors was kind enough to notify us, because they thought no one was at home."

"I'm grateful," she said.

"You know your insurance won't cover this."

"I'm aware of that," she said.

"And it's a good thing we got here in time, but there's still considerable damage to the interior, as you can see." He put his hand on his chin and rubbed it. Then sighed. "Would you do us and your neighbors a favor? The next time you want to set a fire, could you pick something smaller, less expensive, and do it a little more discreetly?"

"It won't happen again," she said, and closed the door.

The following morning, Bernadine made three phone calls. She called her office and told them there'd been a family emergency and she'd be out for the rest of the week. Her boss asked if there was any possible way she could make it in on Thursday, if only for a few hours, because the Langone property, which had been in escrow for the last twenty-eight days, was scheduled to close that afternoon. After all, they were her client, and she was the one who'd been instrumental in making this whole deal happen, and the Langone people were adamant in their request that she be at the closing. Bernadine said she was sorry, but somebody else would have to do it.

She called Gloria, knowing she wouldn't be home. Gloria always did her grocery shopping on Monday mornings, so Bernadine left a message. "I know Joseph told you what happened, but I'm all right.