Photo by Jaroslava Petrášová on Unsplash
I don’t remember how he looked at me when
we met, whether his auburn eyes sparkled
and the dimple in his right cheek winked at
me. He gave me marigolds picked from my
mother’s flowerbed on our first date.
“Were you happy with Lester?” asked the bartender.
I lifted the pink straw out of my drink and folded it until it cracked. ‘I used to be,” I said, “then Saturday, I wasn’t...”
I was nineteen when I met him. He worked for my dad at the Hornsman Village Ford dealership. I remember the day I dropped off my dad’s forgotten lunch before class. I was studying at the community college. Upgrading. I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to be something. Lester liked my smile, he said I made him laugh. When did it stop? We got married because I got pregnant.
“My dad liked him. He promoted Lester to lead salesman after our wedding.”
I chugged back the rest of my drink and held up the glass. “Another old fashioned, please.” I placed the blue umbrella next to the green one. “Could it be just a little bit sweeter?” I tried to flutter my eyelashes.
Chestnut Eyes, as I like to call the bartender, raised his eyebrows. “I’ll add an extra cherry.”
There should be icebergs. Big ones. Like the one that hit the Titanic. This was an Alaskan cruise. Where were the icebergs? It’s just my luck that size-nothing, hairless-chin, lasered and botoxed snake stole Lester and I’m stuck on this ship without icebergs.
I straightened the floral tunic covering the rolls that told my age like the circles of a tree. The Macy’s saleswomen said it matched my eyes. I finally wore my age in my clothing size. My mother told me that I was an overachiever, in the 97th percentile for size at three months, and always wearing at least two sizes larger than my age until I hit the extra-extra-extra-lucky size. The fifteen pounds that the juice fast melted away before the cruise enabled me to slip into a svelte size forty in the Bold and Beautiful section. Lester didn’t notice. He was working late.
“Maybe I should try one of those self-improvement courses or…” I looked up at his chestnut eyes, “… or maybe I should try that Five Steps to a New You from May’s Beautiful You magazine.” I spent the days reading in my cabin. “Do you think Lester would come back? If I was a ’new me’?”
“What do you think?” He wiped the bar. “The kitchen’s open for another forty-five minutes if you want to order dinner.” Chestnut Eyes opened a short menu with the day’s choices. “I recommend the salmon. Let me know if you want anything.” He moved over to the two twenty-somethings with blonde and silver hair extensions.
I brushed my poker-straight hair behind my ear. No sooner had I tucked it, the hair slipped back over my ear. I sat at the bar to avoid the questions at the anniversary table. I didn’t want to see the other happy couples with their looks of pity and discomfort. I ugly sobbed last night. In front of the entire dining room.
A tuxedoed violinist approached the table on the first night. The opening strains of Boccerini’s Minuet resonated in the alcove. I set down my bourbon. My mouth opened and closed. A young woman in a dark emerald sheath followed him. She was carrying a vase of red roses. When I booked the cruise, last year, there was a place to mark special occasions. I checked off anniversary and added the date. The chair to my left was empty. I hunched forward and examined the sliver of endive, coated in balsamic vinaigrette and fresh thyme as if it was the most decadent layered chocolate and white ganache cake with pink hibiscus blooms.
Angie Starward, seated on my right, grasped my wrist, her gold tennis bracelet grazed my arm. “Oh dear, you went for the elite platinum anniversary package? How, um, lovely…”
Tears pooled when the Starwards, the Jeffries, the Hawthornes told their stories of how they met. Running on the beach on Valentine’s Day. Walking a golden doodle past a sidewalk café in October. Arguing over who should get the first edition copy of The Great Gatsby. At first, they didn’t ask where Lester was. They knew his name from the seating plan. On the second drink, I told them about Lester. I had mumbled something about volcanoes and then gestured wildly with my glass for the waiter to bring me another drink. The bourbon sloshed over the rim onto Angie’s ivory palazzo pants.
“Careful, these are haute couture.” Her accent was impeccable.
Laurel Jeffries stood and whispered to the violinist. “There has been a mistake. You should leave. Her husband.” Her hand went over her mouth as she leaned in closer to him. “He left her before the cruise.”
I gulped my bourbon. It didn’t go down. It spewed into Angie’s champagne. I snorted, loudly.
“Did you want anything?” Chestnut Eyes asked. He was holding the hand of one of the blondes.
“No.” I studied the blondes. Their life was easy. My chin rested on my hand.
Enough. I’m not enough. If I were, Lester wouldn’t have left me at the airport for his assistant Minnie just before the Alaskan cruise to celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary. That name, Minnie, a dog’s name, makes me cringe, from the wiry grey hairs that pop out of my eyebrows and my chin, to the bunions on my feet from the years of wearing stilettos. Lester said that the three-and-a-half inch heels made me look stunning. Obviously, he lied. Minnie, that size-zero-wearing stinkweed, sprouting up where she wasn’t wanted, calling at all hours and then, turning up at the airport with his forgotten passport and ‘surprise’ tickets to Hawaii.
#
I don’t remember the warmth in the pit of my
stomach nor the way I wiped my hands on my
cut-off jeans that day. The scent of fresh-cut
lilacs from Mrs. Greenford filled the waiting
area at the dealership.
Icebergs fascinated me. The shimmering green stripes magically appearing in the deep blue. I always wanted eyes that colour. I was stuck with sullen gray eyes. Lester and Minnie went to Hawaii to see the volcano. Minnie couldn’t stop talking about them. She even had one as her screen saver. Volcanoes didn’t interest me.
I sat in my deluxe room on the cruise ship untwisting the towel shaped swans that appeared every single damn day on the king-sized bed. I couldn’t get the maids to stop leaving them.
I waited in my room after the second day. I even missed breakfast each morning. It became the same routine.
“Ah, ma’am, I will come back later.” The maid would step into the hallway when she saw me.
“Now is fine.” I handed her the untwisted towels. “This isn’t necessary. Stop.”
“But, ma’am, it is included in your room.” She pulled new swans off her cart and pushed them into my hands.
“No. Don’t. I don’t want them. I don’t need them. STOP” I would throw them to the ground and stomp on the swans.
“I can’t, ma’am. It’s included. I’ll be fired if I don’t.” She pulled out yet another pair off the cart. “I have a family, ma’am.” She gently stuffed them in my arms.
I kept trying and failing to stop the swans. Until Ketchikan.
I’ve wanted to see icebergs in person since I was eleven and fell in love while watching Titanic. My luggage was checked in by the time Minnie had arrived with Lester’s missing passport. I didn’t want to go through the hassle of explaining why I needed to uncheck my baggage to the willowy airline attendant. I couldn’t go back home and explain to the neighbors why I wasn’t on the anniversary cruise that I had bragged about going on for the last three-hundred-and-sixty-three days. I grabbed my binoculars and went up to the viewing deck bar.
A single bar appeared on my cell phone near Ketchikan. I would open my flip phone to check when I sat at the bar, waiting for icebergs. Bluebird chirps, my ring tone, blared.
“Hello.” Maybe it was Lester. Maybe he was calling to ask for forgiveness.
“Is this Mrs. Lester Fenswick?”
“Um.” What was I now, would I still be Mrs. Lester Fenswick without him? “Yes. Yes, it is.”
“This is Constable James Thorton, from the Honolulu Police Department.” He cleared his throat. “I … I have some bad news for you.”
Bad news? It can’t be worse than Lester and Minnie. I shifted in my chair.
“It’s Mr. Fenwick. He had a heart attack at the Garden Inn. He was rushed to the hospital. But, he had a second attack. He’s dead. Ms. Minnie Shepherd provided your contact information.”
My body shook. Lester was not coming back. I scrunched my toes gripping the padded insert.
“This is Mr. Merlin Burges, he will be making the final arrangements for Mr. Fenwick. I’m sorry for your loss.”
I blinked slowly. Arrangements. We had bought side-by-side plots near my parents. Did I want to be buried next to him?
“Now, Mrs. Fenwick, I’m Merlin.” The deep-toned voice filled my ear with options and costs, to inter Lester in Honolulu, or to ship him back home.
I clenched the phone and licked my lips, Lester had dealt with the money, I had no idea what we could afford, what he had spent on Minnie. I opened and closed my mouth. With a deep breath, I made my decision.
“Cremate the bastard.” I raised my chin. “And, flush his ashes down the toilet.” My shoulders relaxed. I hung up.
The maid, eyes wide, jaw dropped, set the dish towels on the bar and backed away.
#
I don’t remember what he said, only that he
had brought dandelions picked from the park
by the hospital. He could afford to buy me
roses.
I twirled in my chair, hooking my toes under the foot rail on the bar. “I miscarried and dropped out of school. I couldn’t focus. We tried to have another baby, but it never worked and then, Lester was consumed with running the dealership after my dad passed away.”
Chestnut Eyes was getting my life story whether he wanted it or not. He replaced my empty glass with a fresh old fashioned. I needed liquid therapy. I needed to talk. He listened. I stopped now and then to give him time with the blonde and silver extensions. I think the blonde one with the micro-bladed eyebrows was sweet on him.
#
I don’t remember screaming and cursing at
him like my grandfather cussed over the
hailstorms in July that shredded the crops.
My wedding bouquet had blue bellflowers.
He lifted my glass and wiped away the condensation circle. I had sat at the same stool all day, every day when I left my cabin. “Another?” he said. “Or do you want my special?” He showed his dimple. Lester had a dimple when he smiled. Lester didn’t smile much anymore. He wouldn’t smile again.
“Step one, jot down three positive things about yourself each day. I started my list.” I turned the napkin towards Chestnut Eyes. “I…I only managed to write the numbers. I’ll try your special.”
Chestnut Eyes poured colourful liquids into a glass creating a rainbow-layered concoction with a maraschino cherry, a pineapple wedge, and a mountain of shaved ice that was topped with a miniature polar bear.
“There. An iceberg martini. I don’t want to hear any more about not seeing icebergs.”
“Cheers,” I took a sip letting the chill of the alcohol tingle in my mouth. I gulped the drink down and wrote beside number one, I’ve seen an iceberg, tasted it, and liked it! I thumped the glass down. “Another!”
While the drink was layered over the mound of ice, I finished my list. “There, I have three things.” I rubbed my chin. “Number two, no chin hairs today. Do you think they were my body’s reaction to Lester’s lack of interest?”
Chestnut Eyes stepped back. “Uh, chin hair? Women usually ask me to check their tan lines when I’m working the Caribbean cruise. They’ve never asked about their chins.” He left for his lunch break. He was meeting Eyebrow Girl.
I opened my cell phone. No bars. I massaged my temples with my fingers. Mr. Burges had called back, asking me to reconsider the interment instructions. The call was dropped. Reception is poor in the Gulf of Alaska. Mr. Burges even contacted the captain to find out whether I was of sound mind. I had until the end of the cruise to finalize Lester’s arrangements.
I had loved Lester. He only nodded when I said, I love you. He never told me those words. Ever.
#
I don’t remember feeling cherished. Dipping
peonies in soapy water will remove the ants.
Eons ago, ants evolved from wasps.
It was the last night. The crimson glow of the setting sun lit up Hubbard Glacier. Chestnut Eyes flipped through a basket beside the sink and pulled out a floral coaster.
“Peonies signify healing. My grandmother taught me that when she made me tie up the blooms,” said Chestnut Eyes.
Bright shades of pink, magenta, and blush colored blooms filled the coaster. A jolt went through my body.
“Healing? Really. There was a bush at our first house by the front door. Lester never liked the flowers in the house. We could never get rid of the ants.” I licked my lips.
Deliciousness passed over my tongue as I drank another iceberg. “What’s in this?”
“It’s my secret recipe.”
“I never made it back to school.” I pushed against the foot bar. “I just…looked after the house and Lester, made sure his suit was pressed. I kinda forgot about me.” I drained the glass and nudged it back for a refill. “You can tell, I let myself go. I was never much, but I wasn’t this.” I turned the napkin over and started doodling peonies. “Once you reach size extra-lucky, it doesn’t take long to reach the extra-extra-extra-lucky.” I took a deep breath.
Chestnut Eyes asked what else was on my list. I leaned down to sip the burgeoning martini so that I wouldn’t lose a drop. “Number three, I can do anything I like, especially the things Lester didn’t like,” I smiled. “I’m going to call the gardener to plant peony bushes along the front window of the dealership when we get to port.”
He grinned.
Lester loved Minnie. I remember exactly the words I used for her when I fired her. The red dahlia-wearing hussy.
I renamed the car dealership from Lester’s Cars Cost Less back to Hornsman Village Ford dealership. Lester’s ashes came home. I spread them around the peony bushes. The flowers bloomed that first summer. Large, outrageous, pink and white blossoms.
Carol Ann Parchewsky is a writer based in Calgary, Alberta. She received her MFA in Fiction at Queens University of Charlotte and her Bachelor of Science, Mechanical Engineering, from the University of Saskatchewan. She is working on her first novel and a novella-in-flash. Her fiction is published in Burningword Literary, On the Run, Flash Boulevard, Stanchion, The Drabble Advent Calendar, and Guernica Editions ‘This Will Only Take A Minute’. She has been shortlisted for The Bath Flash Fiction Award and The New Flash Fiction Prize.