PRESENT TENSE
Chapter Fifty-Nine

Thursday, November 27, 2003

"Jack! Are you about ready to go?" Rose called, carrying her suitcase and purse into the kitchen. It was Thanksgiving, and they were on their way first to the Flemings’ home in Palm Desert for the holiday, and then for the rest of the weekend to Los Angeles.

"Just about. I’m making sure everything is locked up," Jack responded, checking the lock on the back door. Tommy and Helga had already left to spend the holiday with relatives, leaving Jack and Rose to secure the house before they left for the weekend.

"Whose car are we taking?" Rose asked, picking up her belongings and heading for the front door.

Jack thought for a minute. "Let’s take yours. Mine needs an oil change, and there isn’t time for that right now."

"Sure." Rose waited while Jack locked the front door behind them. "Do you want me to drive?"

"To Palm Desert, at least. I’m not sure how to get there."

It was a clear, sunny November morning, the weather pleasantly cool. It was about a two and a half hour drive to Palm Desert from Masline, so they were setting out early. Jack had already made reservations at a hotel in Palm Springs so that they wouldn’t have to drive to Los Angeles at night, and they would go there first before going to the Flemings’ house in Palm Desert for the afternoon. Jack had suggested that they find a place to stay in Palm Desert for the night, to save the extra driving around, but had given up that idea after he had confirmed what Rose had told him—Palm Desert was more expensive than Palm Springs, which had grown far more affordable during the past few years.

They set off, Rose driving, in the direction of Temecula, from which they could take the back roads to Palm Desert and avoid much of the holiday traffic. She was quiet as they drove, her expression pensive.

"Penny for your thoughts," Jack told her after a while.

"Mom’s going to be there tonight," Rose told him, her hands tightening on the steering wheel.

"Wonderful." Jack sighed, knowing how Rose and Ruth didn’t get along, and how much Ruth disliked him, in spite of only having met him twice. "When did you find this out?"

"Yesterday. I called Nana to see if Mom was coming. In past years, we’ve always gone to visit Nana for Thanksgiving, but after everything that’s happened, I wasn’t sure what was going on. But Mom is coming, along with David’s daughter, Rebecca, and us. Rebecca’s nice. You’ll like her. She’s a couple of years younger than Mom, and nothing like her."

"But we still have to deal with your mother."

"She’ll probably be civil, at least. She likes to put up a good front, if nothing else, and Nana always hides the wine from her after about one glass."

"Is your mother an alcoholic?"

"I think so, though she adamantly denies it. David thinks so, too, and he does substance abuse counseling, so he should know. She’s been drinking too much since Dad died three years ago. I don’t know if she even realizes how much she drinks. When I was living with her, she would always drink out of a small wineglass—but she would drink glass after glass, all evening. I counted once, and she went through eight glasses of wine in an evening. When Cal and I got engaged, he ordered a bottle of fine wine at the restaurant. Cal and I each had one glass—and Mom drank the rest. Cal told her she’d had enough, and Mom told him that he was a fine one to talk, since he’d given wine to an eighteen-year-old. I’m not sure I see the connection, but fortunately, there wasn’t that much in the bottle to start with, so she didn’t get too intoxicated."

"Your mother and my Uncle William would get along famously—he likes his beer."

"Is he a mean drunk?"

"Emmaline certainly thinks so. He scares her and her brothers. Of course, he’s got a mean streak anyway, so who knows?"

"Mom isn’t usually mean when she’s had too much too drink. She gets argumentative and sad. She used to tell me how I should be grateful for everything she’d sacrificed for me, especially when I was upset with Cal, which was often."

"Did you and your mother ever get along?"

"We got along better when I was younger, though we always clashed a little. I guess it’s normal for mother and daughter to disagree, but sometimes it got a little out of control. Mom was always very concerned with appearances and what everyone else thought, and I really embarrassed her sometimes, especially when I was a little kid and when I was an adolescent. She wanted everybody to think we had the perfect family, the perfect life. And a lot of people thought things did look perfect—even when I wore something strange to church, or sulked about something. That’s what a lot of kids do. But Mom was always afraid that someone would gossip about her—small wonder, since she liked to gossip herself."

"What is it she dislikes so much about me?"

"You’re not well-to-do, you’re not Cal, you’re an ex-felon...and anything else she might come up with. Once Mom decides she doesn’t like someone, wild horses can’t change her opinion."

"I’m no worse than Cal."

"You’re a lot better than Cal, in my opinion. You’ve never tried to kill anyone."

"No, that’s something I never tried. I never wanted to kill anyone…well, except maybe Cal, but he’s safely in prison."

"I’m glad to hear that. It raises my opinion of you a notch."

"I thought it was already high," Jack teased her as they came to a stop in the freeway traffic.

"It is...but things can always get better." Rose grinned at him, then turned her attention back to the road as traffic slowly began to move again.

*****

They arrived in Palm Springs around noon. After checking into their motel, they headed back down the 10 freeway to Palm Desert.

David and Kathleen Fleming lived in a modest house in one of the residential areas of the city. Despite the fact that it was no larger than the one Jack and Rose lived in, it was considerably more expensive, having cost about seven hundred thousand dollars new. Had the Flemings been of a mind to rent it out, it would have rented for approximately five thousand dollars a month.

In spite of the dryness and heat of the desert, the front lawn was lush and green, the result of being watered three times a day, and tall green trees lined the sidewalks. The landscaping represented an appalling waste of resources, though the Flemings’ backyard, out of the eyesight of neighbors, was much better adapted to the area, decorated with various cacti, desert shrubs, and drought-resistant flowers.

"Rose! It’s good to see you!" Rebecca Fleming greeted them at the door.

"Hi, Aunt Rebecca." Rose hugged her grandmother’s stepdaughter, then turned to introduce Jack. "Aunt Rebecca, this is my husband, Jack Dawson."

"Pleased to meet you, Jack." Rebecca shook his hand. "I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your wedding," she told them. "I just got back to the United States last week."

"Aunt Rebecca’s in the Peace Corps," Rose explained to Jack. "She’s been working in Africa for the past couple of years."

"What did you do over there?" Jack wanted to know.

"Medical work. I’m a registered nurse. I’ve worked with a lot of people, but especially with kids. Every time you turn around, there’s some new war, famine, or epidemic, and the kids get the worst of it." She turned and headed for the kitchen. "Have you two had lunch yet?"

"Not yet. We were going to go and get something," Rose told her.

"Kathleen wants the leftovers eaten before she comes back from the supermarket with food for Thanksgiving. We might as well clean out the refrigerator for lunch. I’ll go get Dad."

David joined them a few minutes later, after Rebecca had pried him away from his latest computer game. "Those things are addictive," he apologized, sitting down at the kitchen table. "Good to see you, Rose, Jack. Rose, your grandmother should be back shortly. She went to the supermarket. Your mother isn’t here yet. She called and said she’d be by around two."

"Thanks, David." Rose wasn’t looking forward to seeing her mother, but she smiled anyway and offered him some leftover casserole. The scent of roasting turkey filled the kitchen, and several freshly baked pies were in the refrigerator, probably David or Rebecca’s work, since Kathleen had never been a very good cook.

At least she had some time to prepare herself before Ruth showed up. Rose tried to put thoughts of her mother out of her mind as she listened to Rebecca’s stories of her work in Africa.

*****

It was just past two o’clock when Ruth arrived. Jack and Rose were sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table in the living room, playing cards, when Ruth walked in.

Rose got to her feet immediately, feeling at a distinct disadvantage to be sitting on the floor when her mother was standing. "Mom."

"Hello, Rose." Ruth’s sharp eyes took in Rose’s appearance, lingering critically on her flat midsection.

Jack stood beside his wife. "Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. DeWitt-Bukater."

Ruth looked a little startled at the polite greeting, as though she couldn’t believe that her daughter’s ex-convict husband was capable of such. Stiffly, she replied, "Thank you. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too." She glanced once more at her daughter, then turned toward the kitchen, where she could hear her mother and stepsister’s voices. "Excuse me."

Jack stared after her. Rose looked relieved that there hadn’t been a confrontation.

"What was that all about?" Jack asked Rose, who put her arms around him for strength.

"I think she was assessing us, especially me. From the way she stared at me, I think she was trying to determine whether I’m pregnant or not. In her opinion, a child would seriously interfere with my career." She sighed. "In a year or two, I want to have a child…and I want a career, too. There’s no reason why I couldn’t balance both."

"Especially if you have someone to help." Jack kissed her, then settled down across the coffee table from her again. "Whenever we have children, I’ll be there to help. You can count on that."

Rose picked up her cards again. "I know. Thank you, Jack. In spite of Mom seems to think, I know that I made the right decision in marrying you. I’m one of the luckiest women alive, having a husband like you."

*****

Rose and Ruth avoided each other most of the afternoon, staying in separate rooms whenever possible. When the entire group gathered in the backyard before dinner, Jack and Rose walked out into the yard, throwing a tennis ball for Kathleen’s dog, while Ruth stayed on the patio, giving her opinion on Rebecca’s work and on poverty and struggle in general, much to the irritation of her stepsister.

At dinner, Kathleen and David brought the food from the kitchen into the dining room, much to the delight of their guests. Rebecca avowed that she hadn’t had such a feast in so long she’d forgotten what it was like, while Ruth eyed the bottle of wine her mother had brought out. It was a small bottle, Rose noticed, with only enough for each person to have one glass.

Kathleen walked around, pouring wine for each person except Rose. When she got to Jack, he shook his head and waved the wine away.

"No, thanks. I never did like wine much," he explained.

"It’s an acquired taste," David agreed.

"One that you’re better off not acquiring," Rebecca added, giving a significant look to Ruth. Ruth barely glanced at her, but instead looked at Jack as though he were deliberately trying to make her look bad by not drinking.

Ruth and Rose remained civil to each other throughout the meal, making only polite comments when they spoke to each other at all. When it appeared that there would be no confrontation, everyone relaxed, listening while David told some of his worst jokes.

It wasn’t until after dessert that Ruth finally decided to talk directly to her daughter and son-in-law. Jack and Rose were reclining on the living room sofa, relaxing after the large meal, when she came in and sat in an easy chair across from them.

Rose looked up at her mother, who sat in the easy chair like a queen looking down on her subjects from a throne. She sat up, nudging a drowsy Jack to sit up with her.

Ruth looked at them for a moment, then turned her attention to Jack. "So, you’re my son-in-law," she began, looking him over critically.

"Ah...yes, ma’am. I am," Jack said, a little intimidated by her.

"How did you meet my daughter?"

Jack glanced at Rose, who gave a small shake of her head. She had never told about her attempt to commit suicide by jumping off the landing at the library.

"We met at the library at Elias University," Jack told Ruth, giving her the version of the story Rose had given to the cops. "Rose dropped something over the railing on the landing, and almost fell trying to reach it."

"And you kept her from falling."

"Yes, Mom, he did," Rose interrupted, not wanting to go any farther into the subject than necessary.

"And you found it necessary to see him again." Ruth looked at Rose. "Even though you knew that Cal would not approve."

"Cal had no say in who my friends were," Rose replied, looking at Ruth levelly.

"You became far more than friends," Ruth retorted, looking at the matching wedding bands the couple wore. She looked at Jack. "You could have at least given her a diamond wedding band."

"She didn’t want one." Jack looked Ruth right in the eye, refusing to be intimidated.

"Of course she did. She loved the diamond Cal gave her."

"No, I didn’t. It was an ugly, gaudy thing, but neither Cal nor you would have listened if I’d said so."

Ruth ignored her daughter. "Did you at least buy her an engagement ring?"

"Yes, I did. A nice sterling silver one."

"It was exactly what I wanted," Rose added. "It suited me perfectly."

"Where is it now?"

Rose showed her mother her right hand, where she had moved the silver ring on her wedding day. Ruth looked at it.

"It is pretty," she admitted grudgingly, leaving both Jack and Rose staring at her as though they couldn’t believe that she’d said something complimentary.

They stared at each other, Ruth still looking for something to criticize. Finally, she looked at Jack again.

"How long were you in prison?"

"Mom—" Rose started warningly.

"It’s okay," Jack assured her. "It wasn’t prison, Mrs. DeWitt-Bukater. It was juvenile hall, and I was there for eight months."

Ruth looked at Rose again. "Could you possibly have chosen worse than an ex-con for a husband?"

Rose gritted her teeth at her mother’s rudeness. "Yes. I could have married a current convict," she said, referring to Cal.

"Rose..." Ruth looked as though she was going to berate her daughter, but instead turned to Jack. "You have quite an interesting history. From what I’m told, you wandered around quite a bit after you got out of juvenile hall."

"Yes."

"And did you find that kind of rootless existence appealing?"

Rose glared at her mother, but Jack answered her evenly. "Well, yes, I did. I liked waking up in the morning not knowing who I was going to meet, or where I was going to wind up. I went about life just as my father said that I should, making each day count."

"And now that you’re married, have you settled down? Or are you going to cause my daughter grief?"

"I got tired of wandering, of not knowing where my next meal was coming from. I moved to Masline, got a steady job, and went to college."

"I’ve heard that you’re an artist. That hardly seems like steady work."

"I work for an advertising agency in Southland. I get to do what I like best and make a decent living at it."

"And you’re capable of providing for my daughter? Rose seems to think she needs to work, when she should be concentrating upon college."

"We support each other, Mom. I like working, and I have no trouble both working and going to college. I worked an internship for Cal last year," she added when Ruth looked as though she were about to make another biting comment.

"That’s different. The internship was much easier."

Rose opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at her mother’s naïveté. Ruth looked at her in irritation, then turned her criticism back to Jack.

"I don’t think you’re as stable as Rose believes. Where did you get that scar on your wrist?" she asked, looking pointedly at the faint line on his left wrist where he had slashed himself the previous summer.

Jack just looked at her. "That’s none of your business," he responded, moving his watch to cover the scar. Most of the time, he kept it covered, but his watch had slipped from its usual spot, allowing Ruth to see the scar.

Ruth looked at him, a grudging look of respect crossing her face. Few people were willing to stand up to her that way. Only her mother, her stepsister, and Rose had ever spoken so plainly to her. Most people allowed her to walk all over them. She couldn’t help but respect someone who refused to bend to her will, even though it annoyed her.

*****

A short time later, all of the guests except Rebecca left. Rose hugged her grandparents and Rebecca, and even said a polite good-bye to her mother. Jack thanked everyone for the dinner, calling them by their first names, even Ruth, who looked a little surprised at her son-in-law’s acceptance of her. She and Rose had not yet mended the rift between them, but they were more at ease with each other now, and Rose hoped that they could eventually at least tolerate each other.

Rose and Jack got into the car, heading through the clear desert night for Palm Springs. Jack was driving and Rose sat in the passenger seat beside him, still amazed at the conversation with her mother.

"You know, Jack, I think Mom actually respects you. She might not like you much, but I think that she admires the way you stood up to her."

"She respects you, too, believe it or not."

"I doubt it."

"I think she does. You stand up to her, and you no longer let her walk all over you. She’s still angry with you for going against her wishes and thwarting her plans, but she’d have less respect for you if you simply did what she told you to do."

"Children are supposed to honor their parents. That’s what she told me for years."

"I don’t think honor means the same thing as blind obedience, especially when you’re grown and living away from her."

"Try telling her that."

"She probably wouldn’t agree," Jack admitted. "But I do think she’s developed some respect for you, even if it is hard to see."

"Maybe. You always were good at seeing people for what they are. But my mother...I don’t know, Jack. I still haven’t forgiven her for selling me to Cal, and I don’t know that I can ever really trust her again."

"Maybe not, but it’s best for everyone if you’re not constantly at war with her."

"I know. Maybe this is a beginning, Jack. Maybe someday, we’ll learn to get along again."

Chapter Sixty
Stories