“But it’s not her decision to make,” I said. “It’s this woman’s property. She can do whatever she likes with it as long as it’s not hurting anyone. And I’m sorry, aesthetics do not count.”
“I’m not saying she’s right, Jemma,” said Melanie sharply. “I’m just saying I see her point.”
I pulled my legs up, till my knees almost hit my chin. I looked up at the bugs milling about the streetlight.
She pointed. “See how that other fence is so much taller. It sticks out like a sore thumb.”
“Yeah, I see it. I just don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”
We were quiet for a minute. The dog barked again. I heard a car engine running, and the sound of tires on gravel, and a minute later, a car was in front of us, passing us, and heading up the hill. They honked.
“Bitsy says…”
“Bitsy says what?” I snapped.
“She says she loves me,” said Melanie quietly. “She wants to take care of me.”
“Loves you loves you? Or just loves you?”
“Both. Well, the first one. I don’t know.”
“Do you love her?”
“She says she loved me right away, the minute she saw me she had to have me, that’s what she says. That I energize her. Bring her to life.”
I traced the shape of a heart with my finger in the dirt.
“I don’t know what else to do right now but to let someone love me. It’s better than not being loved at all, don’t you think?”
I didn’t know what to say to my friend. I knew that I was supposed to open my mouth and wisdom, preferably of the sage variety, should effortlessly tumble out. That’s not my strong suit, though. I know that there are a handful of things to be admired about me. I am pleasant to look at, even with twenty extra pounds on me. I can be funny and I can be direct in an inoffensive way and people seem to trust me right away, think I look like a nice girl. I have an even tone to my voice. I am a natural blond.
But I am the first to admit I have many more limitations. I am selfish, I am that spoiled child that my husband likes to call me. I am smart but not smart enough to have foresight. When I took the truck and left the sedan, it was a major act of triumph for me, and one that was inspired mainly by a television commercial for 4X4s. I had to really think about it. I don’t like to think that hard too often. You would think I could help a friend, that my back would be strong because I am young and healthy. But my back is actually weak, because I have never had to use it before, not once. I have never lifted a heavy object, and I certainly have never had to carry someone who needed my help.
I could have fought for her. I could have told her that she was loved, not just by me, but by many other people. That she shouldn’t fear being alone. That I was her friend, and I would take care of her. But in reality she didn’t have too many friends in the first place, and she’d have even fewer left as soon as they found out she was shacked up with some middle-aged lady on this hippie island. And I wasn’t doing much better at taking care of myself; how much could I offer to her?
Instead I said, “Did you lose weight? You really do look great.”
AFTER A FEW DAYS of clean air—I returned home the morning of Bitsy’s return because Melanie thought it would be easier that way, and I suppose she was right; I wouldn’t have to report back a thing because if I didn’t see her, she didn’t exist—I headed back to the city, to my apartment, to my life. While Melanie had clean air all around her, the air in my home was now polluted. When I left, the house had been quiet and (I thought) clean. When I returned, I discovered the remains of my marriage had turned. Our marriage was now sour milk, moldy bread, and unpaid bills, stacked high in a corner. And I was the only one left to clean it up, because Will was gone, for good as it turned out.
With him he took: the contents of the bottom three drawers of our bedroom chest, and the rest of his side of the closet; all of his shoes from the front closet, his favorite umbrella, and his rain gear; the fancy espresso machine and the French press that we got as a wedding present from his boss, plus some silverware we got from his rich aunt from San Francisco; books, tons of them, all of them, really, because I’m not much for reading; the gray suede couch he used for his Sunday naps, and the television set, the combination DVD/VCR player, the CD player, the speakers, and the entertainment center that had housed all of them. We had bought all of those last items new in the last year. I was bummed they were gone.