Quartet – Fourth Installment

Margo

Thursday I left from work at noon. Thank God for my job. In spite of being sleep deprived, the awesome hair color I created for my last appointment was pure genius, I have to say. She went dancing around the salon showing everyone, and her tip was substantial. I decided I’d use it to buy some decent wine to share with my girlfriends instead of the cheap stuff.

I went home, filled the trunk with my clothes and makeup packed in multiple brightly colored canvas bags. Then I drove north from Miami on I-95. I thought driving would help me clear my mind, but all it did was give me time to obsess. Deciding I’d had enough of that, I stopped at a Cracker Barrel in West Palm Beach and rented an audio book, I’m Fine and Neither Are You. It definitely fit, and besides, the tagline got me: ‘When it comes to love, is honesty the best policy?’ It was a good question. I ended up listening to the whole thing, and I still had no answer.

It got dark, and I stopped and spent the night at a motel in Daytona Beach. A couple argued in the room next to mine. She was pleading, begging him to forgive her for forgetting something that must have been important to him. He sounded disgusted with her, so disdainful, I wondered how anyone could live like that. I had an urge to knock on their door and ask the jerk who did he think he was, but I knew I wouldn’t. Finally, he stormed out and slammed the door. She turned on the TV and I did too. I found the same channel she was watching, somehow hoping for a little sisterhood solidarity with Law and Order. I’ve got your back.

My neighbors departed early in the morning. In spite of my concern for their future, I went back to sleep. Then, after driving for a few hours, I stopped to shop for groceries and wine at a supermarket in Brunswick, Georgia. Kiawah wasn’t far from there, and I was the first to arrive at our island retreat. It was surrounded with tropical foliage and looked exactly like the photos that were posted online.

Ruby had given us the code for the keypad, and the inside was quite nice in soft blues and mauves—good job, girlfriend—soothing. I picked a bedroom and dumped my bags. Then I brought the groceries in, refrigerated the wine, and stowed the snacks. Since nobody was there yet, I unpacked and put my stuff away. Then I walked across the street and onto the beach. I felt immediately at home the second my toes slid into the soft sand.

The ocean always had this magical way of making the things we mere mortals worry about seem insignificant. I knew in the grand scheme of things my problem hardly counted. How could it? In my sordid little story there were no starving babies, no asylum seekers in cages, no mass genocide, no mushroom cloud on the horizon. I wanted the vastness of the ever-present sea to remind me of my irrelevance.

But I kept remembering all the times Ron and I laughed at the same things, got angry about the same injustices, and shared our fears and joys with each other. Especially about the boys. Our sons had anchored us. We were a family. He had altered that irrevocably, damn him.

When I got back, pockets bulging with shells and sea glass, Zan and Olivia were pulling into the driveway. They had bags of groceries, too, and were teasing one another. Olivia laughed, and I would have known that laugh in a crowd at Grand Central Station. They both looked and sounded so familiar, so normal, so much a reminder of how simple our lives used to be, I got tearful.

They were alarmed, of course. “What is it?” Olivia asked. She held my arm. “Are you not well, Margo?”

“So, come on, girl, what’s up?” Zan asked.

“No, no. I’m fine. I’m happy to see you,” I lied. I mean I was happy to see them, both of them, but I wished I didn’t feel like I’d been living a fraudulent life for thirty years. “You both look great.”

We toured our new digs, admiring how clean and tasteful our new vacation home was. “I am jealous of this kitchen,” Olivia said. “So huge. And modern. I could cook for the queen here.”

Zan said, “I don’t think she was invited.”

“Well, you would know, would you not?” Olivia said. “It is your birthday.”

They both seemed carefree and happy. I wondered if my misery was reflected in my face.

None of us had heard from Ruby. I called her and it went to voicemail. Zan tried with the same result. We ate snacks, drank wine, and waited for Ruby.

We did lots of “remember when,” and Zan hit on the best: “Remember the time we met up in New Orleans for Mardi Gras,” she said. “The last time we got together, I think. Right? How long ago was that?”

I thought back to how old my boys were. “Five years? I think so.”

“Of course,” Olivia said. “For our forty-fifth.”

We all remembered different things Ruby had done that had made us laugh—or cringe. First, the hotel lost the reservation, which sent her round the bend. “I remember when she asked the hotel clerk if she had lost the plot, and the poor woman, in tears, went looking through her purse.”

“I felt sorry for that lovely woman,” Olivia said.

Zan said, “Finding a place to stay was what Ruby had repeatedly called—to anyone within a mile radius—’an epic cluster fuck’.”

“Ruby was more easily upset then than she is now,” Olivia said. “Is she not? Was this not near the time that her daughter was asking to go live with her father? Margo, do you remember?”

I did. “It started earlier, but she was putting pressure on then. I remember, because Regina’s eighteen now, two years younger than my youngest, so she’s been at her dad’s—more or less—since she was thirteen or so. She’ll be heading off to college in the summer, and I think that’s why Ruby’s thinking about getting married.” I wasn’t sure if Ruby was thinking about marrying Alan or if he was putting pressure on her. I made a note to ask that question when I got a chance. It would be ironic if she got married as my marriage fell apart. I still couldn’t imagine not being married to Ron, even though at the moment I couldn’t imagine being married to him either. Talk about your rock and hard place.

We moved out to the porch as the sun went all the way down. Finally, our concern for Ruby began to silence our reminiscences. We’d eaten too much to be hungry and drunk too much wine to drive, even if anyone had wanted to go to dinner. No one did, so we got into our pajamas. Zan and I tried Ruby at different times, but she never answered. We had no idea how to find her, and no one looked as if they would sleep well if we didn’t hear from her.

Then Olivia, who still had her phone on airplane mode, noticed she had a voicemail. “I am so sorry,” she said. We listened together to Ruby’s message. It had come in a three hours earlier. “Hiya, my Peeps. Sorry, but I got held up. I’ll be in later, liable to be even after you all go to bed. Not to worry. Seriously. Carry on, won’t you? All is well.”

“Why did Ruby call Olivia and not the rest of us? And what does ‘got held up’ mean?” I asked nobody in particular. I wondered what could possibly be so important, after she arranged all this? Okay, too bad. I was going to heed her advice and go ahead without her. “Listen, girls,” I continued, “I can’t wait for Ruby. Something’s happened and I need to talk about it. Is it too late?”

“Of course not,” Olivia said. “We can see you are upset. There is no need to wait for Ruby She will not mind.”

“Her loss,” Zan said. Let’s hear it,”

We all carried our glasses to the living room and sat back down.

I took a sip of my wine. “Ron’s gay.” I took a breath and fought tears. “And I’m a world-class fool.” They were stunned, of course.

“How can this be?” Olivia said.

“What do you mean?” Zan asked.

“Which part?” I asked. “He’s a homosexual. That’s what I mean. How can it be? He is aroused by men. He had—he has—male lovers. And I just found it out.”

“How did you find out?” Olivia asked. She was truly calm. It felt like she was asking me how I discovered he didn’t floss.

“How? By accident.” And then I told them about Vince and the phone call. I told them the whole thing, and I didn’t cry. I wanted to, and they could see that, so they took turns holding my hand, making sympathetic noises and occasionally asking questions.

“When did it start?” Zan wanted to know.

“He started in middle school. His ‘first’ was a boy we went to school with, who lived nearby, Jeff, his name was. He was Ron’s neighbor.”

“I remember Jeff,” Zan said. “He was gay?”

“Who knows? Ron says lots of boys experimented with sex with other boys. At least according to him it wasn’t uncommon. He thought he would ‘get over it,’ after we got married, and for a long time he did. Or at least he didn’t give in to his impulses. But they never went away.”

“So, does that make him bi-sexual? I mean you two have sex, don’t you?” Zan asked.

“Of course we do, but he’s always been … tentative? I guess, undecided? And it never happened as often as I thought it would. As I wanted to, anyway. I thought I was ‘oversexed,’ or something—that he was the normal one.”

“You spoke to no one about this? Why did you not tell one of us?” Olivia asked.

“Or Ruby?” Zan asked. “Does she know?”

I shook my head. “I just found out. I mean just. Besides, you know the crazy thing? I want to talk to Ron about it. He’s the one person I’ve always talked to—about everything. He’s my best friend.” My throat closed up, and Olivia scooted over next to me. She put her arm around me and pressed my head to her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Margo. How terrible for you.”

“So, it’s out in the open now—at least between the two of you, right?” Zan asked. “So, what are you most worried about right now?”

“Besides my marriage? Our sons, I guess. Bobby’s graduating in a couple of weeks. And then Jon’s coming from Orlando with his fiancée for Christmas. How’ll they handle it?”

“Margo,” Olivia said. “This is not what you should be concerned with.”

“It’s not?”

“No, mi amor, it is not. The boys may already know. If not, and if Ron chooses to tell them—and that should be his decision—they will be fine. Their world is different than the one we grew up in. They know gay people, they know trans people. They are familiar with the LGBTQ community, and this is commonplace for them. Knowing this thing? Their world will not end if he tells them.”

“But he’s their father. He’s their hero—has always been.”

“And will be again,” Olivia said. “If they did not know this about their father, they will surely be shocked. And they could even be disturbed by this news. Angry even with you, for some time. Perhaps a long time—or not. But they will adjust. As you say, he is their father, no?”

I nodded.

“And, Margo, they have all their lives ahead of them to choose their own paths to acceptance. You cannot worry about your sons. You must be deciding what you want to do. Do you want to stay in this marriage as ‘best friends’ and allow this Vince person to be in your life as your husband’s lover? Or do you want to send Ron to Vince? What do you want to do for yourself, Margo? This is the question you must answer.”

No wonder she was valuable to that Greek guy. Director of human resources? Perfect for her.