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Mary thought of the beach incident, but then dismissed it. “No, other than a lot of television watching, I can’t think of anything. Well — this probably doesn’t mean much, but she insists she wants to go live in Hawaii.”
Dr. Henderson chuckled. “That sounds like a fantasy many of us have when we’re weighed down by everyday matters. It may be that this is a temporary episode brought on by work stress. I’ll need to do a thorough examination to rule out any underlying physical problems. I’ll see her on Tuesday.”
After a thorough physical exam, Dr. Henderson reported a slightly elevated blood pressure, high cholesterol, and fatigue, possibly of viral origin. She gave Lilah a written statement, prescribing an indeterminate period of rest, and Mary felt some relief.
In the evenings though, “I want to live in Hah-wah-yeh” now became a refrain. If Mary hadn’t begun to feel like she was camped on the slope of a rumbling volcano, she would have found the subject of Hawaii more boring than the tedious first chapter of Michener’s novel.
Mary countered with arguments about premature retirement, gawking, boorish tourists, the lack of variation in seasons, and, above all, the high cost of living.
Mary came home from work one day to find Lilah absent and a note clipped to a manila envelope lying on the kitchen table. The message, “MARY LOOK AT THIS,” was printed in large, bold letters. The envelope contained a bank statement and other financial records. All of it added up to several hundred thousand dollars in Lilah’s name.
Mary sat at the kitchen table, holding her forehead, half in shock.
“Oh Lord!” she muttered.
She knew that Lilah had inherited some money from her parents, but she’d never asked how much, and Lilah hadn’t volunteered. She thought that Lilah probably had given a large amount to Darla for travel and the purchase of a condo. She had no idea…
That evening, Lilah did not mention Hawaii, nor did she refer to the financial records. She sat with a self-satisfied, half-smile, magnanimous in her perceived victory. Mary had a pinched look and could not hide her discomposure. Her unspoken words were as prominent to her as a billboard message: I don’t want to live in Hawaii, no matter how much money you have! But she was unable to say them aloud.
A few days after Lilah was officially put on medical leave, Mr. Chesterton announced the appointment of Ms. Deborah Whiteside as a temporary librarian in the Children’s Division. He had not discussed the decision to hire Ms. Whiteside with Lilah beforehand but called her that day to inform her of his decision.
At noon hour, Mary walked into the small kitchen just off the staff lounge, removed her macaroni and cheese from the refrigerator, and put it in the microwave. She could hear Alicia, her coworker, talking lowly in confidence. She tried not to listen, but Alicia’s voice rose, as she dramatized with comic zest. “She’s a dinosaur…”
Alicia was talking to Ms. Whiteside, Lilah’s temporary replacement. Then, abruptly, the conversation ended. Intuitively, Mary knew the subject of conversation had changed due to her presence. Ms. Whiteside blushed and looked discomfited. Alicia pretended to be amused by a magazine article. Her cover-up was transparent.
Mary ate lunch hurriedly and escaped to the bathroom to regain her poise. Her face burned. The scales had fallen from her eyes. She had thought that Lilah’s foibles, if not altogether unnoticed, were mostly ignored by the library staff.
Mary functioned robotically the rest of the day and faced the evening uneasily. Would she find a talkative Lilah? A depressed Lilah? A Lilah packing her bags for Hawaii? It seemed too much to hope for a Lilah jarred to her senses and ready to return to work.
What she found was a “madeover” Lilah who provided possibilities but no answers. She was sitting on the living room couch waiting to be noticed. Her graying, light brown hair had been permed and dyed bright henna. Her cheeks were two coral patches of rouge, her eyes were smeared with black mascara, and her nails were red and glossy. Instead of her usual, loose caftan, she wore a purple, polyester blouse with a black skirt and pumps. She smiled seductively.
“Well, what do you think?”
“What do I think? I thought we had a visitor!”
“Don’t you like it?” She patted her hair.
“Well, well, let me see.” Mary walked around her, with an exaggerated leer, one hand cupping her chin, the other on her hip. Lilah giggled, and Mary knew that she was in her cups.
“You look lovely!” she half-lied — “lovely” intoxicating her tongue like hot-buttered rum. She remembered an English tour guide who seemed to use the word in every other sentence. Actually, she thought the hair color and makeup were garish, but the perm style was nice, and it was good to see Lilah dressed in something besides her usual muumuu and pink fuzzy house slippers.
Mary suddenly felt quite happy, realizing that it had been much too long since they had been playful.
About Barbara Kussow
