Chapter 8
December 1971 – Cos Cob, Connecticut
Like driving through a thicket, the winding road home was through an archway of bare and brown trees. It was right at freezing, and the fog off the river was minimal. Angela didn't have the radio on; she wanted silence, blankness. Oh, stop being so dramatic! Angela rolled her eyes at herself. Her mother was very kind, and had always provided for her. Angela just never felt like she measured up, and trying to was exhausting. It was easier to stay away, but she didn't really feel entitled to that. It was a confusing headache that was best avoided.
Angela pulled up to the large, white house with aesthetic sections of rock siding. It was nestled serenely among the woods west of the Mianus River. Angela loved this house. She loved so many of her memories in it, and felt guilty for being so repelled. She unloaded her bags, and waddled with them to the door. Walking in the well-lit room, she called, "Mother?"
Mona came around the corner from the kitchen into the foyer. "Angela? Angela! There you are." Mona gave her daughter a somewhat awkward hug, but smiled widely and looked her over. "Dear, you look wonderful!" Mona said, genuinely.
Angela smiled, "Hello, Mother. Thank you." Mona looked like she wanted to say something more, but didn't.
This is okay. That was…nice. I think I'm okay, Angela steadied herself.
"Come on, kid; Carwen is just pouring the cheese sauce over that rarebit you like so much. She's so excited to see you." Mona lightly led her by the elbow, through the living room with the roaring fire, into the bright kitchen with its snow white granite countertops.
Angela gasped delightedly, "Rarebit? That sounds great; I didn't have breakfast this morning." Again, Mona looked like she was going to say something, but simply smiled and pulled her daughter into the kitchen.
"Angela!" Carwen rejoiced, louder than usual, and came up to her with arms open wide. "My girl is home," she muffled into Angela's hair as she gave her a grandma-sized hug. Carwen let go, and put both palms gently on Angela's cheeks. "You look so beautiful!" she said, back in her tiny, serious voice.
"She certainly does," Mona nodded.
"Thank you, Carwen," said Angela, smiling as brightly as she did at eight years old. Still appreciative, but slightly more subdued, Angela smiled and looked at Mona, "Thank you, Mother." Carwen turned back to the counter where she picked up the plates of cheesy toast, and placed them on the already-set table. Angela noticed her mother quiet, looking a little bit hurt, but there wasn't much to do about it at the moment - except smile at her again. She really hated their arrangement, unsworn as it was. It hurt her, and it obviously hurt her mother.
The three ladies daintily cut their toast and ate it alongside fresh fruit and coffee. "Oh, I've missed this, Carwen! It's hard to get good rarebit at school," Angela grinned.
"Yes, there's a delightful pucker to it," Mona chimed in.
"I think my mam would be very pleased," Carwen chuckled softly. "How did your schooling go, darling?"
"Oh, she always does well! She's an excellent student," Mona said loudly, and cut off another piece of toast. Angela sighed internally, then smiled up at Carwen.
"I made the Dean's List again." Carwen smiled broadly, and patted her hand. "Actually, I had this one professor who had almost no assignments due until the final week. So even though we were working all semester, we didn't, and he didn't, know where we stood until a couple of days ago. It was nerve-wracking!" Carwen scrunched her face in empathy.
"Well, good work, dear," Mona said as she saluted her daughter with her mug coffee before taking a sip. That old tension seemed to be thinning the air by the minute, but they all ate steadily.
"Thanks." Angela searched for a reprieve. "How was your cruise, Mother?"
Mona lit up. "Sensational! Bermuda is a fantasy – trust me," she said, winking. "But I don't think I'll go for Thanksgiving next time."
"Yes, I missed having dinner with you." Angela said honestly. Mona smiled. "But I'm glad you had fun." Angela turned to Carwen. "How was your Thanksgiving? Is your family well?"
"Yes. My children are healthy. My grandbabies are happy," Carwen smiled.
"Did you have a pleasant trip to New Cumberland?" Angela asked.
"Oh, yes. I was hoping to nap on the bus, but I got too excited," Carwen laughed, and Angela and Mona joined her.
"And how is Ben, Mother?" Angela asked.
Mona paused. "He…retired," she chose.
"Retired?" Angela's brows furrowed, and she started to panic. "But…how? He didn't have a retirement, did he…How is he living?"
"Angela, calm down. He's fine," Mona said with a little too much airy annoyance. Carwen got up, and brought the plates to the kitchen.
"Fine? Where is he? Does he still live in that little house?"
"Of course."
"How does he pay for it?"
"Oh, Angela, get off the ledge. I give him money."
Angela started to calm down, "But…oh."
"I said he retired, not that he was fired. He's 73 years old, for Pete's sake. There's a lot of mowing and pruning, and I thought he'd done enough," Mona said earnestly.
"Oh. Is this…is this what he wanted?" Angela's sadness seeping through the question.
"Angela. Ben is as hard of a worker as they come. He's worked for us since you were a baby. It was difficult watching him slowly haul the ladders, and the clippers, and the mowers, and the rakes, and everything else he used to keep this place pristine. He'd take so many trips to do even a small task. And while he still did top-notch work, it used to be much easier for him. I mean, he's in wonderful shape, but a body can only take so much."
"So, you wanted this?"
Mona was getting exasperated, and rolled her eyes. "Angela, Ben will be working at his own funeral, but I don't want him falling or hurting himself doing work he shouldn't be doing for me," she said with increasing volume and hands in the air.
Angela was calmed down by now, and started to breathe easier. "Yes, yes I suppose that's true. I just think of him as being such a capable person." She looked sadly at her mother. Mona sighed, and tucked a piece of Angela's hair behind her ear.
"I know. He is. But maybe now is a better time to let him work on his own place? And he comes by a few times per week to weed the flower boxes, anyway." Angela looked confused. "He insisted," Mona smiled. "He really is a very nice man."
"Yes, he is. Thank you, Mother. I think I'd like to go see him."
"I bet he'd like that."
Angela dug her L.L. Bean boots out of the foyer closet, and laced them up over her dark tights. Her wool peacoat fell at her hips, her skirt hitting mid-thigh. She topped it off with an Irish wool bucket hat, and started walking toward Ben's.
With no time to kick rocks, Angela's anxious heart brought her feet down the road in record time. She had a pressure headache between her brows, and had tried to focus on her breathing. Stepping up to the door, Angela knocked crisply.
"Angela!" Ben's yellowed smile shone brightly. His gray hair was still thick, and his trademark Carhartts still stained. Without a word, Angela gave him her tightest hug.
She pulled back a little, and looked him in the face, "Are you okay? Mother said you…you weren't working for her anymore."
"Oh, of course! I'm great. You know that," he smiled and welcomed her inside. "Your mother is a generous lady. She pays me the same now as she did while I was working for her. It took me a bit to accept, but truthfully, I'm very grateful. And she still lets me tend to the flowers." They walked past his packed bookshelf, and old, Philco radio to the couch.
"Oh - wow. Well, good. You deserve it. You took excellent care of our place for so long." She looked around the room. "- as always. You take excellent care of everything in your charge. Your cabin looks better than ever."
"I could say the same about you, Angela. You look lovely." Angela beamed. "Breaking any hearts up there at school?"
She snorted a laugh as she sat down. "I'm afraid they're one up on me, Ben. I just got knocked back in my place after falling for a dreamy guy in the library."
Ben was turning to sit down in the costly way he did, then straightened to scrunched his face down at her. "Back in your place?"
"Yeah," Angela said with certainty.
Ben shook his head as he sat down with a ragged plop. "Do you still not know?"
Angela looked down, and paused before claiming, "Ben, …men…th-they want beautiful women."
"Angela," Ben laughed. "Can we possibly be talking about two different people? Because I'm talking about you."
"Well, you aren't looking at what I've been looking at the past decade," she said softly.
"Ahh, so you don't know who I am, either!" he laughed. "Dear girl, I've known you your whole life. I know about the cruel children who hurt you in grade school, and the emotional waifs who disregarded you as a youth. This is not about them. You, Angela, are beautiful – with or without the rouge." She looked up at him through a thick layer of unshed tears.
"It feels like it's about me," she said honestly.
Ben spoke softly. "Angela. I can only tell you the truth. You have been hurting for a long time. I know it, and it hurts me." He paused. "But if you need to believe lies, ask yourself why."
