Zan

Someone hovered over me. I could feel them breathing, but when I opened my eyes, no one was there. My heart was still pounding out of my chest. I sat up and there were the dogs, stretched out sound asleep with me in the California king. Porthos raised his head and thumped his tail twice, then he settled back down. Nothing’s wrong, Zan. I practiced breathing. After all, if a person had been in the house, let alone in the bedroom, the dogs would have gone bonkers. But then if Trevor had been home, they wouldn’t be allowed in the bedroom, much less on the bed. Trevor wasn’t a dog person. I prefer them to people.

Heartbeat back to normal, but no chance I’d go back to sleep. As soon as my feet hit the floor, all three dogs would be up and ready to go. So I stuffed another pillow under my head and did a mental recap. Three days I leave for South Carolina. To see my best friends. Looking forward to it? Yes, sure, and yet not. Need to stay sober or I’ll end up spilling my guts—about what, Zan? Oh, let’s see, how about everything they don’t know. And what don’t they know, Zan? A lot.

I’m pretty sure I’d told them about my pedophile grandfather in a weak moment at the funeral after the accident. And some tales about my bad girl days, except for the biggest secret of all. Oh, yes, there’s my unconventional marriage. They think the weirdest thing about it is that Trevor’s gone so much. Not so. Then there’s my ‘home invasion’ from two years ago. Nobody will probably even remember to ask about that, thank God, because I flat out lied about that one. I should’ve taken notes so I could remember. Some friend I am.

I reached for my phone, noticing it was on mute. Two voice mails. One from Rabbi Asch wondering why he hasn’t seen me at temple. That was too complicated to explain but it was nice of him to check on me. And a message from my stylist reminding me about my appointment this afternoon. Not likely to forget that one. The roots were showing already.

I’d drop the duvet off at the cleaners. Get rid of the doggy smell. Shouldn’t buy a new one yet. I did that two years ago—even got a new bedroom set. Told Trevor this one suited me better. Besides, it looked nothing like the old one—allowed me to believe I was in a totally different place. Never let the bastards grind you down, right? An expression from my youth. The girls would remember it. We all said it then. So long ago.

How could I be nearly fifty? Trevor said he had a special birthday gift for me—something he got in Munich that he said was lovely—and expensive. He had good taste, and I wasn’t opposed to expensive. He didn’t even know this birthday was the big one. No one knew—besides the girls—how old I was. I made sure of that.

Married for fourteen years now, together sixteen, and Trevor with his head somewhere else, still didn’t know he left his wife for an older woman. So far, fifty wasn’t bad at all. It was the new thirty, right? That’s what they said, whoever they was. My plastic surgeon said no one had to look her age. But it wasn’t easy, or cheap, to keep looking good. Or to laser scar tissue away. The external ones, anyway.

Fit&Fab Forever clients wanted to believe they’d look like me if only they signed up for an annual membership and handed over their shekels. It was my job to make them believe it. Never mind how much work was involved. And even at that, I kept hearing noise about getting a younger model for the brochures. Most of our clientele were older than me. They saw the ads and came in looking for me. That should’ve counted for something.

The job was a perfect fit for me. Looking good had become my thing after I got over my ‘who gives a fuck’ stage that had lasted way too long. Trevor wouldn’t have looked twice at that girl. But he looked at me. It was a good thing the outside of me didn’t match the inside. It was all dark and ugly in there, not that he’d ever been curious about the inside of me.

The women in my family suffered from obesity. It was like waving a flag, “We were abused.” Mommy was first, and she had become horribly overweight, as had her sister, Auntie Zaida, and my little sister Zoe, as well. Compensating, the psychiatrist called it. Trying to keep Grandfather from messing with us by being disgustingly fat was more like it. I was a chubby tubby once, too. It didn’t matter to him.

My sister Zoe was forty this year. She was three years old when he started in on her. By then, at thirteen, I’d told him I’d kill him in his sleep if he didn’t leave me alone. Zoe had been so young, I had no idea she was vulnerable. My mother found out and finally decided he was never going to change, so we moved to Miami, and she swore me to secrecy. Said it was in the past and we were moving far away. Somebody should’ve told her, you can move, but you take yourself with you.

I visited Zoe just last week, on Thanksgiving Day, and the staff told me they’d had to install locks on the food cabinets and the refrigerator, “as a precaution for all the residents.” They didn’t have to tell me. I knew it was Zoe—none of the others had the chutzpah or the compulsion to raid the kitchen. She has both, even with all that brain damage. Or because of it.

If I stayed here pondering, I’d fall asleep again. And then I’d dream again. Couldn’t have that.

I slid my legs out of the covers and there they went—Porthos, Athos, and Aramis leaping from the bed like shots. These guys made me smile. Best day of my life was when I drove to Philadelphia and got them. Went to the kennel to buy one Great Pyrenees puppy and came home with three, after a quick stop to show them to Zoe. They were wiggly bundles of fur then, and made her laugh like I hadn’t heard her laugh before.

Trevor wasn’t happy. Two dogs too many, he said. Actually three dogs too many as far as he was concerned. I had to be pretty adventurous in the sack to get him to come around, even though he knew about the robbery. He had suggested an alarm system. I said they were unreliable.

“But three dogs?” He asked.

“They’re brothers,” I explained. “What heartless person breaks up a family?” He came around. I have my ways.

I skated in my socks on the huge kitchen’s polished marble floors and checked my laptop open on the counter. A new email from Ruby wanting to know if Olivia could ride with me to the beach. Of course she could. Olivia, mellow and even, never ever complained, but I knew her job was so demanding it cut into any hope her ever having someone special in her life. That and her deadbeat druggie sister and her teen-aged nephew and niece mooching off her. Her dance card was full.

I pushed the button for the coffee maker thinking to add to my phone two things that were on my mental to-do list: check the weather so I’d know what clothes to take to Kiawah, and pick up the gifts I had made for everyone at the jeweler. Music brought us together, and it had been cool to find something to remind us of that. And forget the dry cleaners, I’d buy a new duvet cover. Trevor never complained about new things.

The boys were used to their other sitter. I hoped this new gal was good with this breed. Great Pyrenees could be so calm they were nearly Zen-like, but if they perceived a threat, they were really loud, which is what I called a great security system—one that would hopefully scare the crap out of an intruder. So, okay, sometimes a bird hitting the glass was a threat to them, and they would bark and scare the crap out of me. I’d have to remember to warn the sitter.

My neighbor had told me their security system had a ‘glitch’. Dogs didn’t have glitches. Trevor might’ve called my musketeers the three stooges, but they made me feel safe. After what happened, feeling safe made all the difference. I never let my guard down. Not anymore. Ever again.

“Okay, okay, I’ll feed you, babies. Then we’ll go for a quick run around the lake. See who can wear who out.” As if we didn’t know.

Ruby

After flying into Charleston the day before they did, I rented a car and checked into a hotel. Then I sat like a fucking lump in the room. I was all wonky—couldn’t move. I also couldn’t afford to waste time if I was going to find him. I had all these questions. Regardless of what Google said, what if he wasn’t there any longer? Oh, and, what if he didn’t even recognize me? What if he did and didn’t care, or worse yet, still hated me? What if he was a world-class tosser?

It had sounded genius when I concocted this plan, and now here I was glued to the bed.

Get off your bum, Ruby. You need to do this. If you don’t, you’ll always wonder. I took a Xanax. Then another. Not wise to drive after taking Xanax. I knew that. Too effing bad. I wasn’t going into this without chemistry.

It kicked in. I felt better. I combed my hair, brushed my teeth, told Google Maps where I wanted to go, and off I went.

Zan

I saw Olivia before she spotted me. Those Caribbean genes. Beautiful complexion, line-free face. What I wouldn’t give to be that beautiful without trying. She was lugging a heavy coat, but wore a simple white blouse with a colorful skirt and flat boots. Her shining dark eyes slid by me, searching, then came back to me and grew wide. “Hola, Zannie,” she called out, and several people looked my way, probably wanting to see who that stunning smile was for. They turned away. Oh it’s only you, their expressions said. Only me.

We hugged and squealed like we did when we were young.

“Have you been here long? I knew you would be waiting, but the plane—it circled and circled. So frustrating.”

“Not at all. Just a little while. Besides, airports are the best for people watching, right?”

“They are that, but no one here is a beautiful as you, mi amor, you have not aged a bit. How do you—never mind I know how you do it, do I not? The face—and the body—of Fit&Fab Forever. How nice for you. It is doing well?”

“Yes, it is, Olivia. And I hope that continues, even when I get too old and fat to do this.”

“Pfft. Never. And Trevor, he does well, too, yes?”

“He does, Olivia, and why are we standing in the middle of an airport discussing finances? Isn’t that more up Ruby’s alley?”

“How silly of me. Of course. What am I doing? My sister’s children are living with me again, and I’m concerned about providing for them, planning ahead for them, which leads me to—never mind. Happy birthday, Zannie. You look incredible, and I am happy to be here with you.”

“And I with you, honey. Luggage? Is that it?” I gestured to her tiny bag on wheels. Besides her coat and huge purse and coat, that was all she had. I’d already collected my suitcase from baggage claim. Twice as large as hers, three times. And I had a carry-on as well.

“It is all I have,” Olivia said. “I travel light, as they say, no baggage claim. With Mr. Drakos, in those early days, it was never baggage claim. He taught me well. We can go. You have a car already?”

I did. At least I had one reserved, and we headed over to the rental counter. I signed all the papers, and took the keys from the perky service representative “Thank you Ms. Bitton. Have a safe trip.”

As we rode side-by-side in the crowded shuttle bus to the rental car lot, Olivia said, “Zannie, I did not know you kept your maiden name when you married Trevor.”

“I did. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he said it made him feel as if we were still having an affair rather than being legally married. Bitton was my father’s name, and I loved my dad, even though he was clueless about most everything. He was a kind man, childlike, and way too trusting to be a part of my mother’s family of cutthroats and perverts. But then, they had all the money.”

A man across the aisle from us glanced our way and smiled, nodding his head rhythmically. He had earphones on, so my guess was he wasn’t being friendly but was enjoying his music.

“And he died young, your father. I remember.” Olivia said. “And your mother, too.”

“Both of them, yes. He was only forty-five. She was forty when they were killed, and Zoe was ten. The doctors said she was lucky to have survived. I wonder how many of them would think brain damage was lucky if it happened to their little sister.”

“I remember. It was a terrible accident with that eighteen-wheeler truck. You sat at the hospital with your sister for many days—weeks, I think. It was after we were all in Margo’s wedding.”

“It happened nearly two years after Margo and Ron got married. I seem to remember you sitting with me for much of that hospital vigil after the accident. And then it was months before I got my sister placed in some crappy rehab place—a series of them, actually. I was working for that pool contractor and Zoe was just ten years old.”

“I did not realize that two years had passed. But it had to be so. I was at the community college.”

“Margo and Ron got married right after we graduated. I still remember the three of us in those peach-colored dresses.”

“Ay carumba, I remember, too. So much chiffon.”

We were chuckling as the shuttle pulled into the car lot. “Here you are ladies,” the driver announced. He took our luggage and set it outside the bus. I gave him a five-dollar bill.

Olivia said, “I will repay you, Ms. Bitton, yes?”

“Absolutely, Ms. Santana. I’m keeping track.” I made the gesture of writing on a pad, and she laughed.

We found our vehicle, and loaded our bags into the trunk. Olivia stepped out of her boots and grabbed some sandals from her purse and put them on. “I will need neither boots nor a coat, will I?”

I slammed the trunk. “God, I hope not.”

The car smelled of air freshener. I scooted the seat up and adjusted the mirror. “How long have your niece and nephew been with you—this time?”

She was entering the location into her phone and then directed me out of the airport and onto the highway. “It is a week now, the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Their mother was … not good.” Olivia said. “They came home from the mall to find that there were others in their home—other people. A man. Possibly more than one man. Poor things, it had been more than two years since they saw their mother like that.

“Did you go pick them up?”

“No, Matias is driving now—for about eight months. Mr. Drakos gave him a nice used car for his birthday. He will drive his sister and himself to school and wherever they need to be, and our neighbor Mrs. Baumgarten will supervise.”

I moved the seat up a little farther. “Your boss bought your nephew a car? That’s pretty generous, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so, but that is his way. I could not deny my nephew this thing. He is such a fine young man. He has had to grow up fast.”

“I can’t believe he’s sixteen already. It feels like he was ten just last year.”

“I know. They grow up so fast. His sister, Mariella, is beautiful, but thirteen is such a terrible age, and I feel—get into the right lane, Zannie. You must turn up here. Good, that is good.”

“Go on, what were you saying?”

“I suppose that I am unused to having them there without my abuela. All through their childhood when they were there, I was at work most of the time, and she was the one who taught them everything. She set rules for them to observe—much better than I could ever do. She taught them to speak Spanish, to cook Cuban food, and especially she taught them kindness and respect for others. They have grown into fine young people, and she deserves all the credit. I have no claim to that.”

“But they trust you, Olivia. You are a constant in their lives, and they and feel safe at home with you, right?”

“Of course, all those things are true. They have decorated their rooms to suit them.”

“So, they each have a room of their own?”

“Yes, they have their own rooms, rooms with many memories, I am sure. The house feels—correct—with them there, but we are all missing their great grandmother.”

“And how long—”

“She died two years ago in January.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, but let’s talk about you, my dear friend. How are you? How are your doggies? Oh, and Trevor, of course.”

“I’m fine, Olivia. The dogs are being cared for by a live-in expert, so they couldn’t be in better hands. And Trevor’s still a mensch. He’ll be home for three weeks, through Christmas, into the new year, shortly after I get back.”

“A mensch?”

I laughed. “Yes. Loosely translated an honorable person, a good guy.”

“Ahh, I see. Will you travel with him then?”

“No, when he’s home, he’s happy to be home.”

“It is not … an adjustment?”

“What is?”

“Having him at home, Zan. I know how I am now—living alone for nearly two years. I have gotten used to my way of doing things, and when others are there, as they are now, it is a change. Not a bad change, but still … I don’t know. You do know what I mean, do you not?”

“I think I do, and okay, you’re right. I too get used to doing things in a certain way, my way, and yes, Trevor has his way, and he thinks his way’s the right way, and sometimes, yes, we … have to adapt. Smarty pants. Only you would think to ask that cockamamie question.”

“Well, while I am asking uncomfortable questions, I have another. Something has been on my mind.”

“Shoot.” I sounded light, but I felt dread.

“I think I am remembering correctly. It was around two years ago, you were robbed, yes? Did you not tell me that?”

“It was two years ago, yes,” I said. I swallowed and felt as if I might be sick. “In December, in fact. Around my birthday.” My heart was pounding, but I kept my tone casual. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do. It was a terrible thing for you. Is that not why you got those three dogs?”

“It is. I didn’t mean to get three, but yes. Where is this going, Olivia? Are you in an unsafe neighborhood? Are you thinking of getting a dog?’

She laughed and reached out and touched my arm. Her unadorned, warm hand with smooth skin and short nails was lovely. “No, not a dog, silly, and my neighborhood in the Pilsen District of Chicago is safe enough. I know all of my neighbors. I was simply concerned about you. Did you ever recover any of your lovely things? Was the robber caught? We never talked about it. But the others might be curious as well. We can wait if you prefer.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Let’s wait.” It was a sunny day and warm in the car, but I felt a chill.

Chapters 2 & 3

Margo

So stupid of me. Why did I call Ruby and try to back out? I was probably hoping she’d ask me what had happened. Hoping she’d be concerned enough. Fat chance. Not when she had her boss hat on. And not that I’d have told her. I wasn’t about to talk about my husband’s reveal, not on the phone anyway, and there was nothing I could do to make it magically go away if I cancelled on the girls and stayed home.

Girls. What a laugh. Nearly fifty, all of us. Well, Zan was actually turning fifty on Sunday when we were together, but look at her. Fitness queen of Maryland, if there was such a thing. Managing all those centers—the face of them, in fact.

What a life Zan had. Beautiful mansion on a lake, great job, handsome and successful husband who adored her. Even though he wasn’t home much. Hardly at all, it seemed. In thinking about recent developments, I decided it would be a cushy life to have a husband in absentia.

Actually, at this point I was so mad I wouldn’t have minded if my dearly beloved died. Okay, so not actually died, dead, because the boys would hate that. Ron always was—still is—a wonderful father, I had to admit, and a father by choice. We’d both been desperate to adopt those kids—Jon a toddler and Bobby just a baby—when we became their foster parents all those years ago. Took Jon a month to talk, he was so frightened. And then it was Ron who finally managed to get a smile. They are hardly kids any longer. Don’t they deserve to know the truth?

Not to hear Ron tell it. “Can’t we wait?” He asked.

“You can’t be serious. They’ll be home for Christmas. Bobby’s graduating, and Jon’s bringing his fiancée, to meet us. His from-a-good-Christian-home fiancée. Remember?”

“Let’s wait.” He repeated.

Wait for what? There’s no delete button for this mess. If only I could go back and not answer Ron’s phone. Just let it ring, dummy.

Vince, his name was. Came up that way on the caller I.D. Wanted to speak to Ron. Sure, just a minute, I said. Walked out to the pool area, handed the phone to the grill master. He was burning hamburgers.

“Thanks, Babe,” Ron said as he took the phone. “Hello?” Then that look. I’d never seen my husband look so terrified before. I thought he’d faint. I was ready to catch him. “I’ll have to call you back,” he said.

I couldn’t let it go, of course, and the rest was a nightmare of epic proportions. We must have talked well into the next morning. I screamed and cried. He apologized—he didn’t mean for it to happen. He never meant to hurt me—which made me madder. I asked for details, and then wished I hadn’t. At one point I threw up.

Thank God, I didn’t have to go in on Monday, the salon being closed. Ron did go to work, which gave me some hours to sleep as well as some time to think, for all the good that did. Too exhausted to answer more of my questions when he got home, even though I had some, Ron slept in the guest room on the fold-out sofa. “At least I came home,” he said, as he closed the door.

Genius that I am, I decided I wouldn’t go on the trip, I’d stay home, deal with this. That’s what I’d do. As if that would change anything.

On Tuesday I was preoccupied and couldn’t afford to be. If I messed up with one of my wealthy clients, she’d find another stylist in a South Beach minute and would badmouth me to the heavens and beyond. Besides, I needed my job because I was probably getting a divorce. How could I not?

But canceling the trip was the worst idea I’d ever had. Thank God Ruby didn’t take my feet-dragging seriously. When she said, ‘Fuck Ron,’ well, I wanted to invite her to give it a shot. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. I hope the girls—one of them at least—will help me figure it out. Olivia possibly. She’s always been our voice of reason.

 

Olivia

Mio Dios, Abuela would say. I was excited to be getting away with my friends. It had been so long. Those girlfriends were like sisters to me. I felt closer to them than to my own sister. And to think I nearly did not allow myself to go. Because of all that happened—so many things.

I was needed at work, as always, and it was I who had the hardest time finding a date the four of us could agree on. When the girls were free, I had a conflict. It was frustrating for poor Ruby, I am sure. At last, we all agreed on the weekend of December eighth—Zan’s birthday. I quickly made my flight reservations. It was done. Nothing would interfere.

Many years ago when I left Miami to work for Mr. Drakos in Chicago, I never dreamed the company would grow so large. My job as administrative assistant eventually became the director of human resources of Drakos Industries. Each year we grew, and each year more was demanded of me.

My assistant Matthew had reminded me that I had not taken a vacation last summer. He claimed to be concerned for my health. Like a mother hen, he was. Arranging for this time off, even though it was but two work days, made him smile. As he processed the paperwork, he said, “At least it’s a small step in the right direction.”

So there I was deciding what to pack when my little sister relapsed—again. Isabella had been doing so well, going to her N.A. meetings, and speaking often with her sponsor. Only days before, she and her children Matias and Mariella had Thanksgiving dinner with me, and I saw how happy she seemed. She even helped me in the kitchen, something she rarely did. I should have paid more attention to my nephew’s wary demeanor. He knew his mother so well.

Two days after that dinner, on the Saturday afternoon just one week before I was to leave, Matias called. He was calm as he told me what was happening, but I could hear the fear in his voice. I insisted he and his sister gather their belongings and come right away.

This was the first time since their great grandmother left us that they would be living here with me. When they were small, my abuela had been their caregiver. In our home, as they grew, they always had rooms of their own. She provided daycare and then after school care, and they stayed with us when Isabella was not capable of being a good parent. She raised them more than Isabella did. My role was minor then, but with Abuela gone, I would be on my own.

When they arrived, I saw that Mariella had been crying. She allowed me to hold her, while Matias appeared as a stone. As they unpacked their belongings upstairs, I overheard my nephew instructing his sister in an authoritarian manner. “I’m not a baby, Matias,” she said.

I fixed us some food, and we sat in grim silence at the kitchen table. My conflict was great at that time, and I thought about cancelling, but they begged me not to change my plans. “Aunt Olivia, we’re old enough to be on our own.” Matias assured me.

“It’s not like we have that much adult supervision, anyway,” Mariella said. I hated knowing this was probably true. But they could see my reluctance to leave them, so later Mariella phoned Mrs. Baumgarten, our neighbor, to ask if she was available to keep them company while I was gone.

Mariella handed me her phone so I could hear Mrs. B’s answer: “Olivia, my sons have long since married and moved away, I rarely see them anymore. Besides, your grandmother and I were good friends, and I’ve known those kids since they were little. It will be my pleasure to have young company for a few days. I’ll teach them mahjong.”

I was not convinced, but the next week they got up and went off to school every morning, and I could see that they had done this on their own many times. At work I told Matthew about it, and he was cavalier about their situation. “At sixteen and thirteen, they know the drill by now. I know we did. My older sister ran roughshod over us. Sadly, issues of absentee parents didn’t originate with your two, and it won’t end with them.”

“It makes me happy to have them there with me, and sad that they have to be. I think that makes me loco.”

“It makes you normal, boss. A little on the obsessive side, but we both knew that already.” Ruby would have called him cheeky.

With Mrs. B’s willingness to stay with them, I decided I would not deprive myself, nor would I disappoint my friends. I was determined to set all my worries aside, go on my trip, and enjoy myself.

People I had told about our lengthy friendship were amazed that I would remain close with my three school friends since our first year of high school. We were totally different in personality, but there was much love between us, and laughter. We always had many things to talk about, as well. Even if years passed, when we re-united it felt as if it was just yesterday.

It was Ruby who did not let us drift apart. All of our retreats had been organized by her. “I work with blokes all day every day,” she said. I believed she meant men, and this was why she claimed to need her women friends—“the ones who knew me when I was likable,” so she said. It had been five years since we were able to spend a long weekend with one another. That time we had met in New Orleans, and this time we were going to South Carolina. I was sure the home she picked would be lovely.

It was growing quite cold now in Chicago, and on the beach in South Carolina it would be warm enough to walk barefoot. It is something I missed—the Atlantic Ocean.

Zan’s flight from Maryland was scheduled to land shortly before mine in Charleston, so we arranged to drive to Kiawah island together. It was to take us around a half hour. Perhaps, in that time, I would ask her about that bad thing that happened to her some time ago, almost two years, I think. It was something I had not forgotten about.

She never answered me several times when I asked, except to make light of it and say it was not important. I could not imagine being robbed being of no consequence. Anyone would be alarmed by that, and I wondered if she had needed more help than she received—especially from her husband. He had not even bothered himself to come home from his travels when it happened.

Even though she told me that she had not been concerned, she had bought three dogs. That did not feel like the actions of a person who was not concerned.