Chapter Sixteen
The advertisements promised I would feel like myself again, but what if I didn’t remember who that was anymore? Miltown was supposed to make me the wife my husband had been missing. Make me smile even on a rainy day.
But a few days after starting it, I hadn’t noticed a difference. Not yet, anyway.
I did feel a bit calmer, more relaxed. I had the energy to put together a Jell- O salad for our card game. I was sleeping a bit more at night, but only after going out to the living room and letting Luna curl up with me on the couch.
But I still didn’t look like the women in the magazines. I still didn’t feel like the Lulu I wanted to be. Instead, I felt like I was suspended in one of my own gelatin salads, wobbling, yet held on display as life continued beyond my reach.
The doctor had said that it might take more than a few days for it to work as it was supposed to, for me to be the wife and mother my family needed.
And I wondered: Did Mama ever think about any of that? Did she ever consider who Daddy needed her to be other than the woman who fried his chicken to a crisp and washed the manure from his coveralls? Did she lose sleep over not knowing how to comfort me the morning I found blood in my underpants and began to cry, certain that I was broken?
If over time Miltown made me myself again, I was curious to see who that person was, but while I waited, life continued on, including Nora’s insistence on playing cards. I would’ve preferred to host the ladies at my house, to not
be so far from Esther, but Nora said it was Bitsy’s turn.
The lemon scent greeted us at the door, as if to announce the cleanliness we were about to enter into. The sun soaked the living room in light, a stark contrast to my own house, which faced the opposite direction and drowned in shadows after midday. Bitsy took advantage of being westward facing and filled her picture window with a jungle of plants. Philodendrons twisted and climbed alongside a spider plant whose foliage coiled like overgrown fingernails. I couldn’t help but notice she should repot her mother-in-law’s tongue, the leaves suffocating in their claustrophobic container, a mistake I had made when I had last attempted to nurture a houseplant.
Above the ugly davenport were mirrored shelves with various knickknacks all sitting at attention, the porcelain figurines holding the same smile and stare as their owner. But most annoying were the vacuum lines in the carpeting—expertly lined, perfectly parallel, running the full length of the living room floor.
As we settled around the kitchen table, I noticed the cleaning schedule stuck to the refrigerator. Apparently, Bitsy was one of them. I was the outlier.
Hatti placed her hand on top of mine and gave it a little squeeze, asking, “How are you?”
I should’ve left then. I could’ve said Esther and Wesley needed me, which they probably did. I could’ve left my salad and made a quick exit, but having been trained in politeness, I sat and hoped that Hatti’s question would sound like usual small talk to the others.
“Fine,” I said as I placed my other hand on top of hers and tried to change the focus from me. “How are you feeling? Has the baby been active?”
Unfortunately, Hatti wasn’t ready to talk about herself yet. “You’re okay? I mean, after the other night and all?”
“What do you mean?” Nora asked as she dealt the cards around the table.
“Oh, nothing.” I pulled my hand out from underneath Hatti’s and reached
for my cards. “Whose lead is it?”
“But after the other night.” Hatti really could be relentless, especially when it came to mothering. One time a baby bird had fallen out of its nest and Hatti was beside herself, watching out her window all day for the mother to return and take the baby back home. I wanted to explain that the mother bird couldn’t simply lift a fallen child into a nest, not like we can, but Hatti couldn’t hear that. She hadn’t been raised on a farm, nor with the frequent reminder that death was a part of life. “When you passed out. Are you okay?”
Bitsy looked up from her cards, her eyes wide, as Nora asked, “You passed out?”
“Yes,” I said, flashing a small smile, questioning how much I wanted to say to them. “After the work party. I guess I had a bit too much champagne.”
They didn’t need to hear me complain about headaches and tiredness. Who among us didn’t have those?
“Henry had to carry her into the house.” Hatti dropped her voice, as if she was hiding her response from me.
“Lulu!” Nora scolded. She’d always been the eldest of our group, even though Bitsy was now the oldest—though I still wouldn’t call her a part of our group. Nora made sure to invite her. They apparently spoke most days, either by phone or across the fence line, but that didn’t mean she was one of us. “Tell me you called the doctor.”
“Yes,” I tried to reassure them. “He came the next day.”
Nora placed her cards on the table. “And…?”
“He said I’m right as rain.” They watched me, expecting me to say more— well, except for Bitsy, who kept her focus on her cards, shifting the same ones in her hand. She was such an odd bird, always present while also absent.
Though in that moment, I preferred her indifference to the prodding of the other two. “Those were his actual words.”
Nora wouldn’t let it go. “But what does that mean?”
“He said that physically, I’m fine.”
“But…” She shifted in her seat, and I knew that sign. She would soon need a cigarette, but I also knew she wouldn’t take a smoke break until she got what she wanted from me. “Quit shittin’ around, Lulu. What else did he say?”
“He called it hysteria. Said I have housewife syndrome.”
Hatti’s voice dripped with concern as she repeated, “Housewife syndrome?”
“Says it’s nothing to be concerned about.” I hoped that was true. Mama had told me the same about Daddy when he first saw the doctor. With Georgie, we knew from the start what possible nightmare lurked around the corner, yet he was the one who was still with us.
“And let me guess,” Nora began as Bitsy sat and shuffled her cards. “He put you on Miltown?”
My surprise must have shown on my face. “How’d you know?”
“You know I know things.” Nora took a cigarette from her case and tapped it on the table. She stuck it in her mouth, where it teeter-tottered on the edge of her lip. “You don’t mind if I light this up in here, right?”
“Well…” Bitsy finally stopped shuffling her cards. “Gary doesn’t—” But she never finished her sentence, as Nora puffed until the tip glowed.
“I know some gals who have used it,” Nora said.
“Well, the ads are in all the magazines,” Hatti said.
“Has it helped?” I asked as Bitsy got up from the table to fetch a bowl (from the forsythia luncheon set, two-and-a-quarter books) that Nora could use.
Nora laid a card on the table. “Some swear by it. If it does half of what the ads promise, I’m sold. But what can it do for your hair?”
I put my hand to my head. “Is it that bad?”
“Well, you know it’s just us. It’s not like you need your Sunday best, but it looks a bit”—she searched for a word—“flat. It’s not doing your cowlick any favors. But what do I know? I’m lucky I have clothes on. Marjorie has been in quite the mood. Threw her oatmeal right off the high chair. And after I mopped the floors two days ago. That child, I swear she’s going to be the death of me.” She closed her eyes and took a breath. “So maybe I should see about getting myself some of those pills.”
“Tell your doctor you’re not happy, and that should do the trick,” I told her.
“Happy?” Nora punctuated her question with a laugh.
“Yeah, he asked me if I was happy, and I didn’t have an answer for him.”
“I’ll tell him about the oatmeal and ask him if putting up with that day in and day out would make him happy.”
“Oh, now,” Hatti began, “it’s not that bad.”
“Hatti Brooks,” Nora warned, “don’t go gushing about your kids right now. Yes, I love mine, but that doesn’t make it easy.”
The truth of the statement silenced the room, other than the nap timers that ticked toward the end of our game. I had set mine for earlier than theirs, knowing I needed to get back to Esther. She’d been fussing at the end of her naps. Hatti fingered her gold locket, and Bitsy continued to shuffle her cards as if it was her duty to keep them moving.
We went on playing, making it around the table before Nora spoke again.
“It could be worse.”
“What do you mean?” Hatti could rarely let a statement like that go unquestioned.
“We’ve all heard the stories.” Nora tapped her Lucky Strike on the rim so that the ashes cascaded like snow into the bottom of the bowl. “Remember, we read that article. A couple of years back. I think in Reader’s Digest.”
“You made us read it!” Hatti apparently still hadn’t forgiven Nora for that.
Bitsy continued to fidget with her cards as she asked, “What was it about?”
I remembered the article. It had fascinated and scared all of us. Bitsy looked across the table at me, her eyes settling on mine instead of my lips as I said, “It was the story of someone who had a lobotomy.”
“They drilled holes into this poor woman’s head to cure her malaise.”
Leave it to Nora to give a matter-of-fact recounting, to which Bitsy focused her eyes on her cards and began to run her hand over her bangs, pressing them into her forehead as if attempting to iron them into place.
“But”—Hatti tried to wave off the memories of the article—“that was fiction.”
“Based on a true story,” Nora reminded her.
“That poor soul.” Hatti shifted in her chair. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“I’m just saying…” Nora exhaled another puff of nicotine haze before snuffing out the cigarette. “It could be worse, Lu.”
Three of us nodded in agreement as the fourth continued to fuss with her bangs, petting them from forehead to eyebrow, stroke, after stroke, after stroke, as the timers ticked, ticked, ticked.
A few hands in, and Hatti and I both needed to use the powder room.
“It’s down the hall and on the right,” Bitsy said as if we didn’t already know. We could walk blindfolded through any of these houses and still know exactly where to go.
I let the pregnant woman go first. Waiting my turn, I looked at the portraits that hung along both sides of the hall. They showed snapshots of younger years, when Gary’s stomach wasn’t quite so round. Apparently, he had been in the war, and it looked like Bitsy had a sister named Ellen, at least
according to the writing across the top of a photo that had to have been taken a good twenty years ago. There were baby pictures of the boys, who I could not tell apart, and one of them standing in matching uniforms at what must’ve been the academy. I looked over the display of this family’s moments and realized someone was missing: Katherine. I saw her eyes in those of Bitsy and Ellen in their younger years, but I couldn’t find a single portrait of the girl herself.
As I looked over the photos and hoped Hatti would be done soon, I overheard Nora asking Bitsy about her cat that was apparently still missing.
“Remind me what she looks like.”
Bitsy’s voice wasn’t as loud as Nora’s. I could barely make out what she said, which gave me hope that I misheard her. Gary had said the cat was “one of those tiger types.” But I swore I heard Bitsy say, “Gray.”
I thought of Luna. I didn’t know where she went in the daytime, and I didn’t need to know. Even if she was Bitsy’s, she chose me for a reason. If anything, I was doing Bitsy a favor helping care for a cat that apparently she couldn’t manage herself.
Hatti wasn’t done yet, but I needed to use the bathroom. Ever since Wesley, I couldn’t hold it like before, and especially not since Esther came along. I decided to use the bathroom in their master bedroom instead of asking her to hurry up.
As I opened the door, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Perhaps Bitsy wasn’t the perfect homemaker she seemed to be. Though the knickknacks and magazines were perfectly in place in the living room, piles of clothes lay strewn across every surface of the bedroom. And not only Gary’s. Bitsy’s nightgown was wadded up on the floor as if she had stepped out of it and not given it a second thought that morning. Her dressing gown had been tossed across a chair, and the dress I had seen her wear the day before was slung over the dresser.
After the state of the bedroom, I shouldn’t have been so surprised to see the bathroom counter cluttered with bottles and clothes, even some dried-up washcloths. The roll of toilet paper wasn’t even in the holder, but instead on the floor beside the toilet.
As I washed my hands, I couldn’t help but notice the medicine cabinet hung open. Inside were the basics: Bayer, laxatives, a turned-over bottle of acetaminophen, and a curled-up tube of toothpaste. But there was also an amber prescription bottle.
I listened for a moment, making sure no one was coming to find me. When the coast seemed clear, I picked up the bottle, expecting to find Gary’s name, maybe some blood pressure medication or something for gout. He seemed like the type of guy who would need both. The label was rather faded, as if fingers over time had worn away parts of the inscription, but I could still make out enough to see that the medication wasn’t for Gary. It was for Bitsy.
And the pills were tranquilizers—phenobarbital, to be precise. A prescription much stronger than my own.
The whole time Hatti and Nora had been asking about my diagnosis and the need for Miltown, Betsy had remained silent. She didn’t share that she had her own prescription. She didn’t share why she was taking the drug. She let the others ask me questions, put myself out there to be examined, but she remained silent.
By the time I left her bedroom, Hatti had returned to the kitchen, and I was alone in the hallway, staring at the door to the front bedroom. Sun and shadow peeked out from the space beneath the closed door. Both called to me. Both begged me to look behind another door to see what else Bitsy was hiding.
I lingered in the hallway, listening before I walked to the door. When it seemed safe, I put my hand on the doorknob. My fingers stiffened as I began to turn the cold knob. The hinges moaned only slightly as I pushed the door
open. Thankfully, they didn’t cry like the ones in the farmhouse, but I paused for a second, making sure no one had heard.
Through the slim opening, I could see piles of boxes and a desk against the far wall. Apparently, this room wasn’t simply used for storage. I began to slink through the narrow opening, keeping an ear out for any indication that someone was coming. Not hearing a soul, I walked to the desk. Recipes clipped from magazines and loyalty stamps were scattered across the desktop.
A calendar poked out from beneath them, along with a newspaper article.
I pulled it from beneath the mess and read the headline: DESPONDENT KNOLLWOOD WIFE TAKES OWN LIFE.
Despondent wife. Nora had said those words weeks ago.
This was the woman from Bitsy’s neighborhood. She must’ve known her after all. I tried to read the article, to see if there was more information than what Nora shared with us, to see if maybe it told why the woman had done what she did or if she had left a note. I scoured the page, looking for any clue.
My eyes trained on the words, all those brutal words—loss, senseless, tragic, mad. I was so engrossed that I didn’t realize I was being watched.
“Mrs. Mayfield?” a small voice asked.
I gasped and turned to find Katherine standing behind me. Much like her mother, she remained silent. She clung to a doll, whose one eye blinked as the other remained wide open.
“Katherine!” I held the article behind my back, not ready to give it up just yet. “I didn’t see you there.” My head throbbed from the sudden jolt. The girl squeezed her doll, holding it with one arm tightly pressed against the neck. I rubbed at my own throat, which suddenly felt tense. “I was looking for the restroom,” I said in the silence.
“I’ll show you.” She waited for me to follow, and I had no choice but to drop the article on the desk. She led me to the hallway and pointed to the bathroom.
“My mistake.” The girl made no move to leave, so I decided to tell her, “Wesley’s been wanting to play. How about I ask your mother if you can come over this afternoon?”
Katherine looked down at the doll. “She won’t let me.”
“Why not?”
She rubbed at the molded hair on top of the doll’s head. “She says he gets me into trouble.”
Then the girl went back into her bedroom, closed the door, and left me alone in the hallway to fume. Heat rose through my body. I couldn’t believe this woman thought my son was a troublemaker, when it was her daughter who seemed to have a problem listening and staying where she was supposed to be.
I couldn’t say any of that to Katherine, but I had it in my mind to tell her mother a thing or two. I straightened my dress, pulled back my shoulders, and ignored the spinning walls as I marched into the kitchen, where I found the three of them eating my salad.
“Well done, Queen,” Nora said with a mouthful of gelatin that she nearly choked on when she looked at me and saw the anger on my face.
Before I could say anything, Hatti asked Bitsy, “So it looks like Gary’s going to be working with Henry?”
“Possibly.” Bitsy looked at her bowl, spooning up another bite as she said, “He was told it looks promising.”
Promising. Wasn’t that how Jack had also described Henry? The heat in my cheeks rose, and Nora shook her head in warning. But I didn’t care. The words bubbled from my stomach to my throat. My brain rehearsed them before they exploded out of me: How dare you call my son a troublemaker!
“Bitsy, how—”
“Oh!” Bitsy’s exclamation interrupted me, her fingers fishing something
from her mouth. She held whatever it was between her thumb and forefinger.
“Is everything okay?” Hatti asked.
I squinted to see what she held, but part of me already knew. I could tell by Bitsy’s wide eyes and clamped fingers.
“What is it?” Nora asked, leaning in for a closer look. “Oh, a hair. I hate it when that happens.”
Embarrassment rushed through me, but vindication followed closely behind it. On one hand, how filthy was it that a hair had made it into my salad? But I knew whose hair Bitsy would believe it to be.
“How embarrassing! I’m so sorry.”
“It happens,” Hatti tried to comfort, but she didn’t know that the mistake hadn’t been improper cleaning.
With Bitsy still holding on to the hair, Nora reached across and took it from her. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Gray. Well, that can’t be Lulu’s.” She and Hatti laughed as Bitsy and I looked at each other. Bitsy had a few gray hairs of her own, especially along her temple. They were quite noticeable with her hair pulled back. But the difference between her hair and the one she had found was the length. And the species. What Nora hadn’t noticed before she dropped the hair onto the floor was that the hair wasn’t human. I had made the salad late at night, had made it while taking long moments to distract myself with a cuddle on the couch. No, the hair wasn’t anyone’s at the table.
It was feline.
I could feel Bitsy putting the puzzle together. Picture her searching her yard frantically. Her eyes landed sharp on me.
And I simply smiled.
