Our Fragile Hearts. Buffy Andrews
Hard to believe that was me a few months ago.”
Claire laughed. “Next thing you know you’ll be driving a minivan.”
I’m not sure what came over me but I burst into tears. I sobbed so hard that I could barely see out my front window. Between the rain, which had just started, and my tears, the world was one big blur.
“Rachel, I’m sorry,” Claire shouted. “I didn’t mean it. Honest.”
I sniffed. “It’s okay. You’re right. I’m like a fifty-year-old stuck in a twenty-two-year-old body.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad,” Claire said. “I tell you what. You get a date and I’ll watch Piper. I’ll even come to your apartment so I can put her to bed and you can come home whenever.”
“First, I have to get a date. And the chances of that are slim considering my life revolves around Piper. There’s no time for anything else. I can’t even go for a run anymore.”
“Why?” Claire said. “Have Piper ride her bike alongside you.”
I sighed. “She doesn’t have a bike.”
“What? No bike? What kid doesn’t have a bike?”
“This kid. Look, I’m okay. Sorry for the meltdown. I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I’ll get over it. I have to go. I’m cleaning Howard’s house today.”
“The hoarder?”
“Yes. It seems every week the junk in his house multiplies like my credit card debt. I convince him to trash a pile of newspapers he’s had for a decade and another pile appears. I’ll never understand how someone can live like that.”
We hung up and when I walked into Howard’s house I found him at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. The tiny patch of white hair on top of his head stood straight up. The white hair growing out of his ears resembled wiry rabbit whiskers. He looked out over his thick black reading glasses perched on the tip of his broad nose. “Good morning,” he muttered.
I threw my purse on the kitchen counter, taking up the last piece of vacant real estate. “Hi, Howard. You look well today.”
He muttered something that sounded like a cross between a thank you and a “I know you’re lying just to be nice” comment.
“Anything special you’d like me to tackle today?” I noticed a new stack of travel magazines had sprouted under the table, leaving Howard with a tiny square space for his feet.
He didn’t look up from the newspaper. “Nope. Same as usual.”
“You know, Howard, you should consider getting rid of some of your junk… er, stuff. It’d make it easier to clean.”
He didn’t answer.
“When I moved I donated a lot of things to the thrift store. They were happy to have them. You could do the same. Perhaps your daughter would help you.”
He sucked in a bucket of air and exhaled it slowly through his noticeably chapped lips. “Margaret? I haven’t seen Margaret in weeks.”
“Isn’t that odd? Don’t you usually see her every week?”
“Not since she’s taken up with that bozo. She brought him here a while back and he didn’t impress me none. Sells insurance or something. Wanted to sell me some. I told him I had enough.”
“Well, okay then. But I’d bet Margaret would help if you asked her.”
Howard turned the newspaper page. “She’d want something for her trouble. She always does.”
I wished I hadn’t brought up Margaret’s name. Howard was becoming more belligerent by the moment. “Well, I’d better get started.”
He muttered as I slid away, following the curved path flanked on either side by junk that reached the ceiling, toward the bathroom.
Mary
I made a cup of Earl Grey and called a cleaning agency to see about getting some help. I’d finally broken down after all these years and decided it was time. It’s not that I couldn’t afford to hire help; it was a matter of pride, I suppose. I’d lived in this house for more than fifty years and had always been able to take care of it. Inside and out. But I couldn’t any longer. It’d been in James’s family for more than a century. I thought we’d have children and that we’d pass it on to them. But that was before I knew about James.
I remembered the first time I’d seen this house. It was the most beautiful house I’d ever been in. Grander than I’d even imagined it would be. Mahogany and marble. Rooms full of antiques. Rich tapestries and the finest accessories. It seemed such a shame that a successful man like James lived alone in this big old house. His parents, whom he had lived with, had died in a tragic car accident the year before.
James and I had been dating a few months. He was my father’s business partner and to please my father and keep peace in the house, I agreed to date James. He was twenty-five years older than me and nice enough, but he wasn’t Teddy. I never felt any tingle when I was with James like I felt when I was with Teddy.
Anyway, James had taken me on a tour of the house. When we got to the master bedroom, I thought maybe he’d want to do more than kiss. That’s all we ever did and I was beginning to think he might want to do a little more. But he didn’t. He just continued to show me the house. I thought he was such a gentleman, not taking advantage of me when he clearly could have. And despite not loving him, my respect for him grew.
As James led me on a tour, I began to imagine living in the house. I thought about what colors I’d paint the walls and how I’d decorate the rooms. Which room would be the best one for the nursery. Surely the one closest to the master bedroom. By the time we’d finished the tour, I had completely renovated the house and the grounds in my mind.
I smiled at the distant memories, trying to remember details that had faded over time. After I finished talking to the manager at the cleaning agency, I picked up the morning paper and walked into the solarium. This had become my morning routine. I did some volunteering a few days a week and kept a couple days open for appointments. Today was an appointment day. I’d scheduled my annual check-up with my ob-gyn today. It was hard to believe at my age I still had to get regular check-ups.
I sat down on my easy chair facing the large window that looked out over the beautiful gardens, filled with all my favorite trees and shrubs and flowers. The day was bright and sunny and I noticed a few birds eating from the feeder I’d placed near the window. I opened the paper to the obituary page. It was always the first page I read, mostly because it seemed like more and more people I knew were ending up there.
I scanned the names on the page. When I saw June’s name, I gasped. June was my best friend growing up. We’d lost touch years ago when Mother and Father sent me away to a maternity house to live with other young girls who had “got themselves in trouble.” June was the one who’d introduced me to Teddy, the only man I’d ever loved.
I walked over to the antique cherry sideboard sitting in the corner and opened the door. I reached in and took out my old diary. I patted the red and gold faux leather journal. Every once in a while I’d pull it out and read the entries I’d made a lifetime ago. It made me sad to remember what could’ve been so I didn’t do it often, but seeing June’s obituary stirred a need to remember that sliver of my past.
I’d never been happier than when I was with Teddy. He was the only man I ever loved and the only man I’d ever been with. Even after James died twenty years ago, I couldn’t bring myself to date. Oh, there were plenty of invites, but I felt it was too late for love. It was too late for a lot of things now. Like motherhood.
I opened my diary and began to read:
July