“Doubtful,” the doctor said. “She’s somewhere far away, dear.”
Claire thought she heard her mother-in-law sigh. She turned, half expecting to find the old woman shaking her head at this. But of course not, Claire thought as she watched the even rise and fall of her mother-in-law’s chest.
“I’m going to find us some coffee,” Claire said when the big hand on the clock on the wall clicked noisily onto the twelve. Seven o’clock.
“Good idea,” Peter said from behind the open Globe.
Jackie in her pearl white satin dress smiled out at Claire. Right now, she was getting dressed for the inauguration, Claire thought. They would go first to Holy Trinity Church for mass, then on to coffee with the Eisenhowers at the White House. Claire sighed in frustration. Dot was probably already awake, setting up for the party. Claire could imagine her ironing her white napkins with blue-striped edges, polishing her coffee service pieces.
“Maybe you can rustle up some Danish too?” Peter asked.
“I’ll try.” Claire grabbed her lipstick from her purse and stood at the small mirror above the sink, carefully applying it. She saw Peter watching her and expected a rebuke. Why put on lipstick to go to the cafeteria? Instead, she saw him smile.
“You look nice, Clairezy,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, twisting her hair into a chignon. “It’s so funny,” she continued, “Rose keeps popping into my mind.”
“I haven’t heard anything about her in ages. Married a pilot, right?”
“Yes,” Claire said. She sprayed a little Shalimar on her wrists, then turned from the mirror. “Remember their wedding out on Long Island? They danced their first dance to ‘Fly Me to the Moon,’ remember?”
But he didn’t seem to be listening. “You sure you’re just going for coffee?” he asked.
Even though he was still smiling, Claire looked away from him. A warm flush ran up her neck and cheeks.
“And Danish,” she managed to say before she walked to the door.
“Claire?”
She paused.
“Anything but lemon, okay?”
As if she didn’t know he hated lemon.
“Got it,” she said.
At the nurses’ station, Bridget had been replaced by a chubby red-haired nurse.
“Excuse me,” Claire said. “Sorry to bother you.”
The nurse had lots of freckles, a round face.
“Is there a phone I can use? I need to make a long-distance call.”
“Well, sure,” the nurse said. She picked up a heavy black phone and slid it toward Claire. “Just be brief.”
“Of course,” Claire said, tucking the receiver between her shoulder and ear and dialing the operator.
The nurse watched her closely. Claire turned from her slightly as she asked the operator to connect her, carefully enunciating Dot’s phone number.
It seemed to take forever to make the connection. When the phone began to ring, Claire could picture it on the telephone table in the hallway between the living room and the kitchen. Even when Dot answered, Claire could imagine her taking the seat attached to the little table, perhaps dropping the dishrag onto her lap, bending her head to hear better.
“Oh, Dot,” Claire said. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“What’s wrong, darling?” Dot said, immediately picking up on Claire’s tone.
Of course she would. Dot had an uncanny knack for such things. Later on that terrible day when Peter had found her with her lover, Claire ran into Dot at the market. She thought she’d acted perfectly natural. But Dot had taken her hand and pulled her close. My goodness, she’d whispered, what in the world has happened?
“It’s Peter’s mother, I’m afraid,” Claire said. “Right after the party—”
“Was it grand?” Dot asked, and Claire heard her take a drag on her cigarette.
“Well, yes. Yes, it was.”
“Did you wear the pewter sheath?”
“The thing is, when we got back, and this is so odd really, because she seemed fine, but it appears she’s had a heart attack—”
“What?”
“They’re not sure she’s going to make it,” Claire said.
“Oh dear,” Dot said.
Claire twisted the telephone cord. “I’m sorry to drop this on you while you’re getting ready for the party.”
“It’s going to be so much fun. I think we’ve got about ten couples coming. Plus Polly, of course.”
“Of course,” Claire laughed.
“Even the Waterstons are coming,” Dot said.
“How did you ever persuade them to come to a party?”
“I think they just want to watch the inauguration in color,” Dot said.
Claire could hear the smirk in her voice. Dot had the only RCA color television in the neighborhood, even though a lot of people were talking about getting a set before the show Walt Disney was producing aired in the fall. Apparently it had to be watched in color.
“. . . and the Merrills are coming,” Dot was saying, “and do you remember the man who was at Trudy’s last summer? He works with Dick? His wife was in the hospital with something . . . maybe getting her appendix out? Hello? Claire?”