“Oh, you’re an expert caregiver. You should have been a nurse. Or a PT. Or a doctor.”
“I’m bad at science and math, remember?”
“Oh, please, Mary. Those are just excuses. When you have a weakness, compensate! A little elbow grease and common sense go a long way to counter low SAT scores.”
Thatshe remembers. Mary shook her head as she sat down on the bed. “You’re right, Mom. I’m a compensator. Even my mechanical skills are improving. I fixed my sink. I’m a plumber without a license.”
“See there? There is nothing my Mary cannot do when she puts her mind to it. She’s a star.” Mrs. Bennet had complimented her middle child as though she wasn’t in the room.
Mary stood and began to straighten the space, hanging clothes draped on a chair and stacking magazines neatly. Mrs. Bennet had a way of pulling her daughter into her emotional twisters. Mary couldn’t see her mother’s rages coming, even when the signs were the same. Distemper led to fretting, fretting led to panic, panic giving way to a full-tilt meltdown. Mary had learned to ride them out. Her sister Lizzie was an expert at it. If only Mary could be more like Lizzie. Inside Mary’s soul, she was a trash heap of steaming emotions, though on the outside, the only indications were the sweat and squirm, where she couldn’t stand still and settled her nerves with busywork. Like now. She shifted from one foot to the other as she contemplated the end of the world and gathered empty teacups from the nightstands.
“Why are you sweating?” her mother asked.
“It’s hot in here.”
“It’s freezing. Your father has the heat on sixty-five. Why?”
“To save money, Ma.”
“Of course, I could’ve answered my own question. It’s always about the purse.”
Then why did you ask?Mary wondered. She believed, at herage, in adulthood, she would’ve devised a way to cope with her mother.
“We will soon have to plan Christmas.” Mrs. Bennet pulled a handkerchief out from under her bra strap and began to pull at the edges.
Mary recognized the sign and went to her, placing her hands over her mother’s, which seemed to soothe her. “Mama, listen to me. You don’t have to do a thing. I’ll take care of it. All of it.”
“You need my help with the roast.”
“Happy to have you season it. You can help prep the potatoes, too.”
“I love a delicate scalloped potato.” Mrs. Bennet smiled.
“It will be perfect,” Mary promised her.
Her sisters had it all figured out—they showed up on holidays with perfect manicures, wearing mommy/daughter Christmas dresses and carrying boxes of homemade cookies. Jane made a pineapple upside-down cake. Lizzie a cream-cheese Bundt cake. They’d deposit their desserts on the sideboard and roll up their sleeves to help serve the dinner Mary had made. Mary would decorate the tree, leaving one set of ornaments in boxes with hooks so the children could decorate the lower branches. Mary thought of everything.
MR. BENNET
Mary climbed the stairs with the threadbare runner to the top of the house, avoiding the holes and the spots where the wool buckled. Her father was sitting behind an old desk opening mail. The sun cut across the papers that were piled on the desk in neat stacks. The piles of paper had not changed since Mary was a girl. Her father had a system: Everything had a place, and thedocuments were organized alphabetically with clips, but nothing ever got done. The pile of bills were paid via snail mail. A large black binder holding the checks sat upright on the shelf next to the desk. Though Mary had tried, the thought of using online banking was anathema to her father. Mr. Bennet stretched his Social Security check like it was made of rubber from the Congo, but it never stretched far enough.
Mr. Bennet was tall, with fine features on a large face. His gray eyes tilted down in the corners. He forced his eyes to open wide over his reading glasses when Mary entered his office with a tray.
“Thank you, Mary.”
Mary placed a tray with a turkey sandwich, potato salad, and a pickle on the desk. She handed him a tall glass of iced tea.
“I wish you wouldn’t wait on me, Mary.”
“If I didn’t, you would never eat.”
“Of course I would. It just wouldn’t be delicious.” Mr. Bennet took a bite of the sandwich.
“Dad, when I get the prize money for my play, I want to hire a plumber.”
“Absolutely not! That’s my responsibility.”
“I could negotiate a good deal,” Mary insisted.
