Life and Other Inconveniences(92)

Once I died, she was going to Scottsdale, Arizona, to live with her sister. I wished I could’ve found a way for her to stay at Sheerwater, and yet, the thought of her here without me filled me with a heavy melancholy.

At any rate, today was a good day to practice. Emma was off at Rose Hill—which made me a little uncomfortable, as she was wont to spread family gossip, and Rose Hill was my territory. Riley was helping at Miller’s with his precious child.

I went into the den, where Donelle, surrounded by the dogs, was tapping away at her laptop. “What are you working on?” I asked. “Ordering a new bra?” She had dozens, each promising miracles that none delivered.

“I’m writing my book. It’s a tell-all about you.” She looked up. “Just kidding. I was online, looking for a girlfriend in Arizona. There are a lot of my kind of women out there.”

I ignored Carmen as she dragged her hind end across the carpet. We had just been to see Anne, the veterinarian, who cheerfully diagnosed her with “itchy butt” and nothing worse.

“Are you a lesbian now?” I asked. Anne and her partner were, and Donelle did quite like them both.

She shrugged. “May as well try it, right? Men don’t interest me anymore. Life is all about change, blah blah. I’ve always thought boobs were gorgeous. And the downstairs lady bits are much prettier than a drooping twig and berries. Stop laughing.”

“Oh, Donelle. You’re too much.”

“What are you up to?” she asked.

“I’m going for a swim,” I said, bending to pet Allegra, who was snuffling my foot. “To test the waters.”

“Clever. So you’re gonna practice offing yourself?”

“Must you be so blunt?”

“Have we met?”

“Regardless. Would you like to come?”

“To kill myself?” she all but shrieked.

“To swim, Donelle. I’m not going to kill myself today.”

“When are you?”

“So eager for me to go?” I asked, linking my hands behind me and stretching, pleased that I still could.

“So eager for you to tell the truth, missy. Tick tock.” She glanced at her foot. “You going in the Sound? Maybe the salt water would be good for my toe.”

“Or maybe a sea creature would bite it off. Either way, a win. Mac, come here, boy, and gnaw off Donelle’s toe.”

“It’d be a mercy, Mac.” She closed her laptop. “I don’t have a bathing suit. Besides, me and Helga—”

“Helga and I.”

“Me and Helga are going to the outlets. Want anything?”

Sometimes I did go with them. Genevieve London Designs had a shop there, and it always thrilled the staff when I showed up. That being said, it was always a little depressing to see my name but not my designs any longer. “Thank you, no. I’m off, then.”

“Us too. Should I alert the Coast Guard?”

I sighed. “I’m just swimming to the buoy and back. I’ll be fine.”

I went upstairs to put on my swimsuit, by far the most difficult garment for a woman of age. Even though I’d worked hard to keep my figure, there was no hiding certain truths of being eighty-five years old. The skin on my thighs was crepey, and veins could be seen like routes on a map snaking through my calves. My arms and chest were spotted with discolorations I couldn’t pretend were freckles and that laser treatments couldn’t outpace. My feet, though I’d just had a pedicure last week, looked old. The bunion on my right foot looked worse than it did in the spring, and hurt more, too.

Then there was the actual putting on of the suit. I’d given up bikinis in my fifties when my skin began to lose its elasticity. This modest black maillot had a special material that held things up and in, and getting it from my ankles into place required a physics degree and a crane.

Finally, breathless from exertion, I allowed myself to look in the mirror. Minuet barked in appreciation and wagged her tail, bless her sweet heart.

I looked so old. Would my own mother know me? Though she had been dead for decades, I suddenly yearned for her. When was the last time someone had taken care of me who wasn’t paid to do so? When was the last time I could rely on someone? The last time someone else was in charge?

I was so tired. Not physically, not today . . . just tired of living.

Get busy living, or get busy dying. That’s what Red said in The Shawshank Redemption (my recall was perfect today), and that’s what I would do now.

Unfortunately, I had to go to the bathroom first, even though I’d just gone ten minutes ago, which would require another wrestling match with my bathing suit.

Such were the indignities of old age.

Fifteen minutes later, I was down at the dock, dabbing a toe in the water. The sun was strong, and it was muggy out today, the green flies circling and buzzing.

The boys used to jump off the dock here, Sheppard running, his feet pounding the wood, little Clark bobbling behind. Both boys were fascinated at my ability to dive straight into the water at high tide. I’d promised to teach them.

But Sheppard had gone away, and I’d never gotten around to teaching Clark. Everything I’d wanted to be as a mother withered away that year, when each day dragged me further from my beautiful boy.

I would see him soon if I ever managed to kill myself. If he was dead, that was. If not, I’d have to keep waiting. That was, if the afterlife existed. It damn well better.