The apartment was three flights up, and when Gretel knocked, the door, left ajar, opened. Sonny was on the telephone; his back was to Gretel and his shirt was off. He was wearing black slacks and his hair was wet from a shower, and Gretel knew this was the defining moment of her life. Would she stay or would she run? Was she the sort of person who would turn away from what she wanted most, and then, forever after, live with her regret? Frankly, she didn’t know until she went to him and reached her arms around him.
After that, she went to his apartment whenever she could. She was so burning-hot little sparks fell from her fingertips and left their marks in the asphalt as she walked the same path every night. Her secret life began to take a toll. Words escaped her; odd things amused her. When woken from sleep, she often could not remember her own name. This is what love is, she thought when she was beside him. But there were times, in the morning, after she’d climbed back through her window to get into her own bed, when she could have sworn she saw the outline of her heart rising through her chest. Try as she might to steal a few pale hours of sleep, lulled by clean sheets and the waking song of the few winter birds that were left, she would suddenly panic. Her arms and legs would grow cold as ice. I’m not ready for this, that’s what she’d think. I’m not now, and I never will be.
Sonny Garnet kept extremely odd hours. He slept through noon, and stayed up until dawn. Gretel knew this because twice she had told her mother she was staying at a friend’s house, then had promptly gone to Sonny’s to spend the night. It was all him when she was there. They didn’t bother with dinner or small talk; there was no talk at all. Gretel let him do things she didn’t even know people did, all because of the way he looked at her, the way he said, I’m never going to let you go.
Later, what she remembered most was that the phone was always ringing. All night long, it rang and rang. Every now and then there’d be a knock at the door, sometimes when they were in bed together and sometimes when she was fast asleep. Sonny always told her not to worry, not to bother; he’d take care of everything. And when he went out to the hallway and closed the door behind him, Gretel didn’t think twice about what he was doing or where he’d been. But there was a night when Sonny wasn’t home and someone came to the door. Gretel tried to ignore it, but the racket kept getting louder, and when she couldn’t stand to hear it anymore, she threw on her clothes and opened the door. The man who was stationed there was already furious, and Gretel hadn’t even said anything yet.
“Where is he?” the man demanded.
“I don’t know.” Although this was a fact, Gretel felt ridiculous and foolish. Somehow, she had entered into a situation where the truth felt as flimsy as a lie.
The man pushed the door open, hard, so that it slammed against Gretel’s shoulder. He could have done anything to her then—murdered her, raped her—but all he did was look through the cabinets in the kitchen and go through all the drawers. When he didn’t find what he wanted, he simply turned and walked out, but the way he’d shoved the door open had left a purple bruise on Gretel’s skin. Afterwards, when she looked at the mark, she got a nagging feeling, as if Margot had somehow settled into her brain to remind her, again and again, that smart girls should always look before they leap.
At the end of February, on a gray and heartless day, Gretel realized that her period was late. She went over to the Harringtons’ basement, where her friend Jill lived with her husband and six-month-old baby, Leonardo, named for his grandfather on his father’s side. Leonardo was advanced for his age, and he crawled in a circle on the floor, like some large crustacean, while Gretel cried.
“You’ll just have to make the best of it,” Jill told her. “Look at me.”
Gretel did and started crying again.
“Well, thanks a lot.” Jill was all huffy and defensive. “My sweet little crab boy.” She scooped up Leo and kissed him half a dozen times. “It’s not such a bad fate.”
That evening, Gretel went to Margot’s house. She pounded on the front door, since the bell had broken ages ago.
“You almost gave me a heart attack,” Margot said when she let Gretel in. She’d been watching the news on TV and eating chocolate-covered pretzels. The house was something of a mess, and had been for several years, ever since Tony had taken off.
“What if I was pregnant?” Gretel said tentatively.
“Oh, Jesus,” Margot said. “What’s wrong with you girls?”
Gretel threw herself into an easy chair. Her head was spinning. “It’s just a what if situation.”
“Okay, fine. You want a what if?” Margot got out her cigarettes and a diamond-studded lighter her ex had given her years before. “What if I killed you, how’s that?”
“Go ahead, do it,” Gretel said. “I’d thank you.”
“Gretel, I thought you were smarter.”
“I’m in love with him,” Gretel said, as though that were an explanation for anything.
“Sure you are.” Margot wasn’t wearing any makeup, and she looked tired, but she was still young enough to remember how all of this felt. “Whatever you want to do,” she told Gretel, “I’ll stand by you.”
Three days later, Gretel got her period, but instead of feeling relief, she had the oddest sense of loss. She closed up on herself. She stopped talking. When Sonny gave her an opal ring for her birthday, all she could do was sit down and cry.
“Not exactly the reaction I thought this would get,” Sonny said.
There was nothing wrong with the ring. It was, by far, the most beautiful gift Gretel had ever received. She wore it day and night; she stared at it as she fell asleep and gazed upon it when she opened her eyes in the morning. But she could look at that opal all she wanted, and it still wouldn’t erase the premonition she had that disaster was only steps away, and heartbreak even closer. She had started to hear the phone ring late at night at Sonny’s place. She’d begun to feel an ache in her chest whenever she saw Sonny, the way people do when they know something is going to break apart.
It happened in March, just when there were hints the winter would end. The sky was bluer, the wind less like a hammer; ice had begun to melt, leaving cold, little streams in the gutters and streets. It was a Saturday and Frances and Margot were in the kitchen preparing for a Saint Patrick’s Day party. They were fixing green potato knishes, éclairs filled with mint cream, and celery sticks stuffed with green-tinted tuna salad. It was noon, but no one ever ate lunch in this house. They grabbed bits and pieces, which is what Gretel did when she came into the kitchen, already wearing her navy-blue jacket.
“Where are you off to?” her mother asked her. “You’re never here anymore.”
Gretel had already taken two of the éclairs, and now Frances smacked her hand when she reached for a third.
“I’m just going out.” Gretel saw the way Margot was looking at her, lips pursed, like she knew the answer to some state secret. “No place in particular,” Gretel said, directly to Margot. “FYI.”
But of course, that wasn’t true. All the night before, she’d been dreaming of Sonny Garnet, and in her dream he had left her to talk on the phone. He always paced when he talked on the telephone; he wound the cord around his arm like a tourniquet. Not that he was the least bit nervous; no way. Even if you couldn’t make out what he was saying, his voice sounded so smooth. But in her dream, he wasn’t smooth at all. When he spoke, rocks came out of his mouth. White stones, so flawless it had taken Gretel a while to realize they weren’t rocks at all, but perfect white teeth.
She’d woken that morning with a terrible urge to see him, and by noon she couldn’t wait any longer. All the way there she had an odd, breakable feeling, as if the slightest thing could hurt her. A branch falling from above, a strong gust of wind, anything could destroy her or blow her off course. Ever since she’d fallen in love, the rest of her life had somehow slipped away from her, the reality of streets and trees, the future and the past—it had been soaked up in the present with Sonny Garnet. She’d never noticed t
he twisted crab apple which grew by the front door of his apartment building. She’d never heard the way the steps creaked as she ran up to the third floor, or paid the least bit of attention to how cold it was in the stairwell, colder than the blue, March air outside.
Just before she knocked on the door, Gretel thought to herself, I could leave now, but she didn’t. She bit down hard on her lip, and prepared herself for whatever was to be, and still she was completely undone when a girl answered the door. She was a beautiful girl of nineteen or twenty, with long blond hair and too much makeup. Immediately, Gretel lost the ability to speak.
“What is it?” the girl said. At least her teeth were awful. She was wearing a tacky name necklace. Laura was her name, and she acted as though she owned the place. She had her hands on her hips. “What do you want?”
“Sonny,” Gretel said, and alas, it was true. Standing in the hallway, where she now noticed the linoleum was cracked and filthy, she wanted him terribly.
“Well, Sonny’s sleeping. You’ll have to come back later.”
“I can’t,” Gretel said. “I’m here now.”
Laura came into the hall and closed the door behind her. “I wouldn’t wake him up if I were you. He’s already bent out of shape because I made him sleep in the living room so I could fix up the bedroom for Desmond.”
As far as Gretel was concerned, this girl was speaking another language.
“Hello?” Laura said when faced with Gretel’s silence. She waved her hand in front of Gretel’s face. “Are you there?”
That was when Gretel started to cry. “You can’t have him,” she said, even though she had no idea how she would manage to fight a rival who was a grown woman with red nail polish and so much mascara.
“You think I’m here with Sonny! I’m waiting for Desmond.” Another blank look from Gretel. “Sonny’s brother?”
Now that she understood, Gretel threw her arms around Laura as though she were a long-lost sister, and as soon as she did Laura started to cry right along with her.
“You don’t know what it’s been like,” Laura said as they both wept. Close up, Gretel could see Laura was older than she’d first thought. She might even be close to thirty. “It’s been hell,” Laura confided. “I’ve had to live with my mother in New Hyde Park.”
They sneaked back into the apartment to have a cup of instant coffee together in the kitchen. That was when Gretel found out that Desmond Garnet had been in the Nassau County jail for the past eighteen months.
“I thought he was away on business,” Gretel said.
“He was,” Laura told her. “Amphetamines and crystal meth. That is his business.”
Because he was older, Desmond had taken the fall. Next time, it would be Sonny’s turn.
“I’m so nervous now that he’s coming back,” Laura admitted. “I want everything to be perfect when he gets here. Is my hair okay?”
“You look great,” Gretel told her. Just tired. Just worn out from all that waiting she’d been doing.
“I’m glad Sonny finally settled down with someone too.”
“We’re not all that serious,” Gretel heard herself insist. Why would she say that? Why would she sip her coffee as though it were true? She turned the opal ring around on her finger, to ensure that the stone wouldn’t show. All this time she’d been breathing for him, or so she’d believed. Now, she wasn’t even certain she knew Sonny Garnet. Who was he really? Who could he be?
“Wild men.” Laura shook her head. “That’s what they are. They’ll do whatever they please. They’ll never listen to us.”
“Nope,” Gretel said. The faucet in the kitchen sink was dripping. The heat was on too high. Traffic from the street echoed here, and she’d never even noticed. Gretel rinsed out her coffee cup. “I’ve got to go,” she said.
“You definitely don’t want to be here when I start the vacuum and wake Sonny up.”
It was dark in the living room when Gretel walked through. All the shades were drawn and Sonny was asleep on the couch, his long legs stretched out, his face pale in the darkness. He’d set his boots right beside the couch, the way men who are used to making quick getaways always do. He looked beautiful in the dark, a creature from a distant planet. Gretel thought about the way he looked all the way home. She thought about it and thought about it, until the image shattered inside her mind into pure white light.
When she got to her house, her mother was out in the driveway, loading Margot’s car with trays of green food.
“Hey, you,” Frances called. “Don’t wait up tonight. We’ll be back late.”
Margot had come out onto the front stoop with the tray of éclairs.
“Are you okay?” she asked when she saw Gretel’s face.
“No.” Gretel was still seeing that white light in her mind, but that would soon fade.
“He dumped you.”
It was such a mild afternoon for this time of year. So hazy and so blue.
“Yes,” Gretel said. The white light was fading already, if she narrowed her eyes.
“Stinker.” Margot shook her head. She shifted the éclairs so she could put an arm around Gretel’s shoulders. “You’ll find someone better. I promise you will.”
By then Gretel had the opal ring in her pocket. It was a truly delicate piece of jewelry; she wouldn’t even know it was gone until she had lost it, and then she could search under carpets and radiators as often as she liked, she’d never find it again. No matter how hard she tried.
“Count your lucky stars that it’s over sooner rather than later,” Margot said.
Gretel shook her head so that the last remnants of white light flew up into the air and dissolved into what would soon be spring.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll do that.”
The Rest of Your Life
One morning, when the air was misleading and mild with hope, I saw my mother standing beside the forsythia. The blossoms had just begun to open, and were now as much yellow as they were green. The branches tumbled into the yard, heavy with the weight of flowers and leaves, and there was my mother, all alone. She was smoking a cigarette, the first she’d had in years, since her cancer had first been diagnosed and treated. Her hair was dark and thick, and she hadn’t bothered with a comb or a brush. She was crying out there, beside the forsythia, but even if she hadn’t been, I would have known. Certain things need not be said, and there’s nothing, not a whispered prayer, not a sacrifice, not a payment of any price, that will change what’s about to happen.
We had dinner that night in the dark, not out of choice but because a storm had come up. The wind knocked down the power lines all over Franconia and left a dimmer world, a shadowy place where a working flashlight seemed worth its weight in gold. We stuck candles into wine bottles and waited for Margot to come over with a pizza.
“I got the last one before the oven went out.” Margot had picked up some antipasto and two bottles of wine as well, one of which my mother now grabbed and began to open.
“Let’s get drunk,” my mother said.
Margot and I exchanged a look. My mother didn’t drink.
“Okay,” we agreed, and we set about it as the wind rattled down our chimney.
We didn’t stop drinking until the candles had burned down. By then, there was nothing left anyway, and we hadn’t the heart for wine anymore. At ten o’clock my brother came home from work. He took bad news the way some people do, with silence and distance and even more distrust in the world than he usually had. He was working double shifts at the Food Star; he was worried about medical bills and mortgages, matters no one should be considering at the age of twenty. All of his free time was spent getting high; he did drugs with a vengeance, pursuing his own destruction the way he had once gone after good grades. He should have been in college; he should have been having the time of his life. Instead, he was standing in our dark kitchen, wolfing down the last piece of pizza and giving us grief for allowing my mother to drink.
“That should be her bigge
st problem,” Margot said.
At that point, my mother was curled up on the couch—for a nap, she had told us, but it was clear she was out for the night. If you looked at the way she was sleeping, with her knees crunched together and her back so twisted, you couldn’t help but think that the world was a crueler place than anyone had ever dared to suggest. You might even find yourself believing that fair itself was a meaningless concept, one which would only deceive you, in the end.
Margot started to cry then, and once she did, I did too.
My brother groaned. “A lot of good that will do.”
“Nothing will do any good,” Margot said.
In the past few months, since my mother had found a new lump under her arm, things had moved much too fast. Maybe that’s why Margot looked as if she’d aged a whole year in a matter of days. Time wasn’t the same anymore. Doors were slamming shut before we even knew they’d been opened. Good fortune can take forever to get to you, but as it turns out, sorrow is as quick as a shot.
We all had hangovers the next morning, but by the time Margot had come over and I had dragged myself out of bed, my mother was already at the kitchen table, looking up cemeteries in the phone book.
“You’re kidding, right?” Margot said.
My mother smiled the way she always did when she was convinced she was right. “If you don’t want to go with me, fine. I’ll drive myself.”
“Are you going to drive yourself to your own funeral too?” Margot asked.
“I’ll take a taxi.” My mother reached for one of Margot’s Salems. “Don’t even think of telling me not to smoke,” she informed her cousin. “I have a perfect right to do as I please. Considering it doesn’t make a difference.”