The Marriage Pact (1) (19 page)

“That’s
fine,” her mother said when she announced this plan at the breakfast table.
“Just be back by 11:00 because I need your help with something.”

Great
. So began two weeks of
indentured servitude to the bride and the mother of the bride. Marci took her
time at the apartment, indulging in a long shower and enjoying the quiet with
Suzanne at work. She allowed herself a few minutes to sort through a couple of
her hastily-packed clothing boxes, noticing with a smile that all the boxes
Wanda had packed contained neatly folded and efficiently packed clothing, while
her boxes looked as though she’d just taken piles from the floor and scooped
them directly in.

She
stopped at a coffee house on her way back home, ordering an extra-large
raspberry white chocolate mocha. A couple of years ago, she had made the
mistake of calculating the number of Weight Watchers’ points this drink
represented, and found that it was around seventeen, the same as a milkshake
and nearly two-thirds of her daily allowance. Today, she didn’t care. If she
was going to spend the next two weeks running around to the caterer, the
photographer, the florist, and the alterations place, she deserved a little
indulgence.

By
the time she pulled back into her parents’ driveway, it was 11:30. She carried
a duffel bag and a defensive explanation for her tardiness, but her mother
didn’t even bring it up. “Oh, good, you’re back,” she said, not looking up from
her task of spreading mayo over ten slices of bread. “Go wash for lunch. Aunt
Mildred’s expecting you in about an hour.”

“Beg
your pardon?
Mildred?
”

“Yes,”
her mother sighed impatiently, “Mildred. She can’t drive any longer and I have
to go with your sister to the dress shop, so I need you to take her to the
cemetery.”

“Does
she have a reservation or something?”

“Very
funny, Marcella. She goes once a week to visit Uncle Herbert’s grave. You’ll
need to pick up some fresh flowers for him on the way over.”

“But...I
thought I was going to be helping with wedding stuff.” Marci sounded about
twelve, even to herself.

“You
are, sweetie. This is what I need you to do today so I can go with Nicky. We
have to do the final payment and fittings today, so I’ve got to be there. I’m
sorry; I know Mildred is...not your favorite. But you’ll be doing me a huge
favor.”

“Fine,”
Marci grumbled and went to wash her hands. Suddenly, everything she’d been
dreading doing today seemed far more appealing.

Aunt
Mildred lived in Peaceful Estates, a huge assisted living complex with various
phases dedicated to people with different levels of ability and independence.
On one end were a collection of cluster homes with garages and cute little
gardens; in the middle stood a midrise apartment building with smaller but
still private suites and a nurse’s quarters every few floors. Between these
two, there was a small green park with tennis courts, shuffle board, chess
tables, and a swimming pool used primarily by the grandchildren of the
residents.

On
the other side of the apartment building was a community center, cafeteria, and
finally, a squat brick building on the far right end of the property. This was
more hospital-like in appearance and function: it had single rooms, wide ramps
on all sides, and two ambulances parked outside. Waiting.

Golf
cart paths and manicured lawns filled in all the rest of the space, other than
the parking lot and driveways coming from the cluster homes —“Tranquility
Cabins,” a wooden sign informed her. As Marci parked her car and headed for the
apartments in the middle, it occurred to her that the residents here got to
keep less and less stuff, along with losing their independence, as they moved
from left to right.

“You’re
late,” Mildred greeted her, seconds after she’d knocked on door 601. “Let’s
go.” She pushed Marci back into the hallway toward the elevator with her big
purse. Coach, Marci noticed. Nice.
No, thanks, Aunt Mildred, I don’t need to
come in and sit down. Freshly baked cookies? Oh, I couldn’t possibly, but thank
you for your generous offer. No, no, I’m happy to take half a day to do this
with you. Please don’t mention it.

As
soon as they got to Marci’s Corolla, she wished she’d thought to bring her
mother’s car. She struggled to help Mildred into the low seat and rushed to
move her CD case, purse, and a couple of fast-food bags out from under the old
woman’s clunky black heels. Mildred did not comment on any of this, but
maintained a death grip on her Coach bag, and tightened her lips in obvious
distaste.

With
a series of vague commands—“Go up a ways,” “Turn before the chicken place,”—and
wild pointing, Mildred directed Marci to the Kroger nearest Peaceful Estates.
It took some doing to get Mildred out of the car, and the two made their way
into the grocery store to buy flowers. Remembering her mother’s command to be
respectful of her elderly relatives, Marci reached out to support Aunt
Mildred’s elbow, but the old lady jerked it away huffily. “Don’t be an idiot,
girl. I can’t
drive
. No one said I couldn’t
walk
.”

Marci
mumbled an apology and remained a couple of steps behind the slow-moving woman
for the rest of the errand. “Where’s the usual girl?” Mildred demanded as an
acne-ravaged teenage boy offered to assist them at the floral counter.

“Um,
I’m not sure, but I’m Greg. I’ll be happy to help you,” he said with a squeak.
He couldn’t have been older than fifteen, Marci observed.
Poor kid
.

“We’ll
see about that. I need a dozen mixed carnations with some white Gerbera daisies
mixed in. And don’t give me any garbage from the front bins that are brown
around the edges.” Involuntarily, Marci thought of Nicole on her cell phone and
shuddered.

“Yes,
ma’am,” he said, and went to work. For someone so young, Greg proved
exceedingly competent and patient. He came back with a bouquet Marci would’ve
thought beautiful on the first try, and then without so much as an eye roll,
made three more trips to the floral case to replace individual stems Mildred
found unacceptable for one reason or another.

“Fine,”
Mildred pronounced when he was done. Marci wanted to break into applause on his
behalf, but he maintained the same calm, helpful demeanor he’d had the whole
time. “Is there anything else?” he asked.
Dear God, man,
Marci pleaded
telepathically,
don’t re-open the door. Get away while you can.

“Yes,”
Mildred said, her voice softer now and less demanding. “Just a single white
rose, please.” He fetched this quickly and once Mildred had refused the water
vial on the end and the decorative tissue, they were off.

Shady
Heights Cemetery was about ten minutes away. Fortunately, Marci remembered how
to get there, and Mildred was therefore silent for most of the trip. Her
presence was evidenced primarily by the sudden sucking-in of air and clutching
at her bag and flowers whenever they approached a stoplight, another car within
fifty feet, or a curve in the road. It reminded Marci of learning to drive,
seeing her mother clinging to either a purse or the sides of the seat as though
her life depended on it whenever fifteen-year-old Marci was behind the wheel.

When
they arrived at Shady Heights, Mildred insisted on entering the small
office/maintenance building alone. A few moments later, a slick man in his late
40s emerged with her, escorting her by the crook of her arm in the exact
fashion for which she’d just scolded Marci a half hour earlier. He motioned to
Marci to follow them as he took Mildred to a large, luxurious golf cart with upholstered
seats and a tasteful canvas awning. She sat on the bench seat facing backward,
glad that Mildred had someone else to criticize for a while.

But
the old lady was quiet as the golf cart zipped up the hill to the large shade
tree under which Great-Uncle Herbert was at his final rest. Marci held her
flowers and purse while the man assisted Mildred from the cart. The white rose
still lay on the seat, Marci noticed. She and the slick man remained a
respectful distance back as Mildred placed the bouquet in the permanent brass
vase on Herbert’s grave marker. A blank marker was next to his, where Mildred
would one day be buried herself.

Mildred
did not spend long with her departed husband, but soon picked her way back between
the other graves to the golf cart. Marci was surprised, though, that the man
did not turn to head back toward the cemetery entrance, but continued along the
road over the little hill toward the back. She had never been this far into the
grounds before. The little road curved farther back than she imagined, toward a
little pond and a chapel. They moved slowly downhill and around to the right,
veering from the main road before reaching the area closest to the pond.

Here
were a cluster of obviously older graves, more modest than their counterparts
in the more picturesque parts of the grounds, with no decorative statues or
looming family monuments. Mr. Slick pulled the cart expertly to a flat part of
the ground. Once he had assisted Mildred out again, he reached into his pocket
and pulled out a small cell phone. Glancing at it, he said with only a trace of
an accent, “Ladies, will you please excuse me for less than ten minutes, as I
must attend to something at the office. I feel you will have no trouble finding
the other plot. It is just three rows back and to the left as I described.
Forgive me. I promise to return presently.”

The
other plot?
Marci was confused, but while Mr. Slick was obviously assuming she knew what
was going on, Mildred was looking away from her, toward the general direction
he had indicated. He bowed slightly and revved the golf cart back over the
hill, far faster than it had gone before. Mildred had begun a slow totter into
the grounds, gripping the white rose, and Marci started to follow. “No, stay
here,” she commanded, without looking back.

So
Marci stood at the edge of the asphalt, nudging the grass with the toe of her
shoe and waiting. Her annoyance and boredom at being here were beginning to be
outweighed by curiosity about the second grave Mildred was visiting and
obviously did not want Marci to see. She wondered whether it would be worth a
trip back to the cemetery later just to find out, and whether she would
remember how to get to this particular spot if she did. Just then, Aunt
Mildred’s hunched form began to waver, and she collapsed to her knees with a
horrifying thud.

Marci
raced to her, panicked, desperately trying to get to her before she fell
forward and hit her fragile old head on one of the gravestones.
Oh shit, oh
shit, oh shit. Mom’s going to kill me.

But
as she got closer, hitting her knee painfully on a headstone as she went, she
realized that Mildred was not in danger of falling further. She had not fallen,
exactly, but dropped to her knees, where she now held herself, shaking and
sobbing. The elderly voice, always so controlled and stern, was now pitching in
moans and cries that were painful to hear. Marci was embarrassed to be there.
She was about four feet away now: too far to presume any interaction, but too
close to gracefully back away.

Aunt
Mildred leaned forward, still sobbing, and with a trembling hand, placed the
rose in front of the grave of Dorothy Elizabeth Walters.
Who was Dorothy
Walters?
The realization hit Marci like cold water.
Dottie.
This was
the mystery roommate of Aunt Mildred’s, who’d been abandoned in favor of
traditional marriage and children. She looked more closely at the dates below
Dottie’s name. March 12, 1919, to December 4, 1948. Not even thirty.

Questions
came in a rush. How had Dottie died? Illness? Sadness? Suicide? Had she and
Mildred stayed in touch after Mildred married Herbert? Did Dottie marry? Had
Mildred been coming here week after week to visit her husband, but never before
seen the grave of her best friend?

Marci
thought of Suzanne and tried to imagine losing her dearest friend, which was
horrible enough. But then never acknowledging that loss out loud would make it
so much worse.
If it were a friend who were also a lover...
Tears
dripped down Marci’s cheeks. Mildred’s face was in her hands now, and the
shaking in her body had eased. She felt a strong desire to go and comfort the
poor old woman, but could not bring herself to intrude on the moment, much less
incur the wrath of having disobeyed explicit instructions.

Soon
she heard the buzz of the golf cart just over the hill, and instinct told her
that Mildred did not want Mr. Slick to see her in this state. Gently as
possible she called, “Aunt Mildred?”

Mildred
did not seem surprised by Marci’s presence; she simply nodded and held out her
hand to be helped to her feet. Marci obliged, careful not to look her in the
eye. Mildred produced a linen handkerchief from somewhere and wiped her face
wordlessly. Mr. Slick gave them a practiced smile as he conveyed them back into
the golf cart and back to the car.

When
they got back in the car, Mildred stared straight ahead and said, “Marcella.”
This surprised Marci—she had not even been sure that Mildred knew her name. It
seemed to be a question, but did not sound like one, exactly.

“Yes,
ma’am?”

“Your
mother says you’re a good girl. Is that true?”