The Book Club. Mary Monroe Alice
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“Are you well?” Doris scanned Eve’s face. “You look so pale and you’ve lost weight.”
Eve waved away her concern. “I’m fine. It’s just being inside and alone so much.”
“I’ve tried to call you…” Doris interrupted.
“I know you have. Everyone has…And I’m grateful. But, it’s not your company I’m lonely for. It’s Tom’s,” she said with the air of a confession. “The sadness inside of me is so big it just sucks the energy straight from my bones.” Then she smiled a bit too brightly, as though to dispel any doubt that anything was amiss. “Oh, don’t worry, I hear it’s normal. This is what the doctors call normal grieving. It’s just a phase.”
“It doesn’t sound normal to me. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I like being alone.”
“But it’s not good to be alone too much. Everything in moderation. Come out to dinner with me.”
Eve shook her head. “I’m just not in the mood. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. Think of this period as a kind of hibernation. I need to sleep for a while, okay? I’ll be my old self in time.”
Doris looked at Eve with doubt. She knew in her heart she shouldn’t leave Eve alone, yet she couldn’t think what to do to lure her out of her isolation. Doris was the type to fix things when they were broken. She couldn’t abide a tear in a dress or serve coffee in a chipped cup, and it was obvious to her that Eve was somehow, well…broken. Then she thought of the garden and knew how to lure Eve outdoors. After all, a woman always felt better when her garden was in order.
“All right, you win. We won’t go out to dinner. But your garden looks a little tired, don’t you think? Let’s take a few minutes to put your garden to bed, like we used to. It’s a lovely evening. Come on, no laziness. It’s got to get done. Go get your gloves and a pair for me. We can make a dent before the sun disappears completely.”
Doris thought she caught a flicker of interest. Eve raised one brow, shrugged, then a small smile of resignation eased across her slender face. Doris beamed with elation, for having succeeded, and gratitude, for not having to be alone this evening. Rolling up her sleeves she felt flush with relief that she wouldn’t have time to recall the love and passion she’d witnessed in Annie’s marriage, then compare it to her own. Eve wasn’t the only one who needed care and mending tonight. Feeling a sudden surge of energy, Doris followed Eve into the kitchen, flicked on a light and called out, “Why don’t I just make a quick call to North Star and order some Chinese for dinner?”
Four
I will honor Christmas in my heart. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach.
—Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
The lights on the Christmas tree sparkled like distant stars in the darkened living room. Eve’s collection of Santa Clauses were carefully placed on decorated tables around the room and the delicate wooden crèche that she and Tom had purchased for their first Christmas together nestled in its place of honor atop the grand piano. Eve sat on one end of the green velvet living room sofa cuddled under an old afghan. She’d lost a lot of weight and the cold affected her much more than it ever used to.
Opposite her on the other side, with her long legs stretched out and one hand absently tugging at her shaggy bangs, slouched Annie Blake. They were sipping coffee spiked with brandy and listening to Frank Sinatra croon “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”
Eve’s vision of the colored lights swam as the message struck true: home for Christmas. That had been her single goal for the six months since Tom’s death: to stay in her home until Christmas. But now it all seemed so pointless. Although the stage was set with the usual props, it felt as empty and cold as a deserted theater. Once this was a place of hospitality, merriment and revelry, a place where scores of friends and family came for a holiday visit and a cup of cheer. This year only Annie rang her doorbell.
“It doesn’t feel like Christmas,” Eve said softly over the rim of her cup.
“Aw, Eve,” Annie replied with gentle exasperation. “What did you expect?” She rested her cup on her bent knee and pursed her lips. “It’s your first Christmas without Tom. You have to face the fact that this Christmas isn’t the same. Your life is different. No amount of creative decorating is going to change that immutable fact.”
Eve shuddered, drawing the afghan closer around her shoulders and turning her head away. She didn’t want to listen. “Bah, humbug.”
“What am I going to do with you?” Annie asked with a sorry shake of her head. “I see you slipping deeper and deeper into this pit and I can’t pull you out. You’re so thin. So remote. So goddamn stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn,” Eve retaliated, hurt. “I’m in mourning.”
“No, you’re way past mourning. You’re dying. Fizzing out. Fading away before my very eyes. And it burns my butt.”
“I’m sorry,” Eve replied tightly, shifting her weight and retreating farther. “Then…just go if I make you so uncomfortable.”
“Damn, you don’t think I haven’t thought about it?” she exploded. “It’s hard watching this. It’s hard for everyone who cares about you. You just won’t listen to anything anyone has to say to you. You’re deaf to all advice. It’s driving your friends—the people who care about you—crazy.” She paused, taking in the way Eve brought her knees up to her chest and tightened the afghan around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Eve, but haven’t you noticed that a whole lot of people don’t come by anymore?”
Eve felt a burn on her cheeks. “Of course I have,” she replied defensively. “I don’t blame them. It’s the holidays. I’m alone, depressed. I’m not exactly party material. Aside from making them feel awkward about tiptoeing around my feelings, I make for a difficult table placement. A single woman not yet social or socially acceptable to pair up with an unattached male so soon after…” Her voice trailed away.
“After Tom’s death. Go ahead, say it.”
Eve stuck her chin out and tightened her lips.
“Don’t you see, sweetie, that’s what I’m talking about. No more excuses. Tom’s dead. Gone. You have to pick up the pieces and move forward. Not just for you, but for the children’s sake. You’re stagnant here. Going under.”
“I’m doing okay….”
Annie slapped her forehead with her palm. “Hey, who are you talking to here? You can’t keep up those false pretenses with me, sweetie. It might work with Doris and the rest of those Riverton matrons, but I’m not just your friend, I’m your lawyer. I do your books. I know your finances better than you do and I’m telling you, you’re going under. Faster than the Titanic and,” she said rolling her eyes, “this place you’re carrying is about as big.”
“It’s not just some place. It’s my home.”
“Look, hon, I know you wanted, even needed, to stretch things out so you could be here for Christmas. It was a bad decision fiscally, I didn’t like it, but hey, I didn’t push you either, for the kids’ sake. But the party’s over. You have to move. Now.”
“I can hang on a little longer.”
“No, you can’t. In fact, I’m worried sick about what will happen to you if the house doesn’t sell quickly. You should have sold last summer when the pool was open, gotten top dollar. But,” she conceded, turning her head to take in the large room with the coved molding and high ceilings, “all this mahogany and balsam trim makes this a perfect holiday house and ought to push a lot of emotional buttons for buyers after Christmas. As your lawyer, I’m advising you to put this elephant on the market. And as your friend, I’m begging you to