The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)

The Metamorphosis of Heather Dow

Previously: "The Seduction of Heather Dow" 

You study Garson in the mirror over the vanity as you put on your makeup. You move with the quick, deft strokes of nearly fifty years practice, touching here and dabbing there, smearing and clearing gauging the effect even as you watch your husband.

He is packing your suitcases, for the plane trip home to Saratoga Falls. This past week in Drayton Beach, South Carolina, was a fun and necessary diversion, taken in anticipation of the grim times to come. You remember hesitating when Garson's sister, Allison, called to ask if you and he would be interested in being her and her husband's guests. Dennis is on sabbatical this semester, you know, she said. We've reserved a condo down near the Outer Banks for the season, and we'd love it if you and Garson came out after he's free from school, to spend some time with us.

Your hesitation, it seems to you now, would have been due to a repulsion at the thought of starting this last journey with your husband off on such a frivolous note. And so you had hemmed at the idea, and suggested she talk to Garson about it.

I want to talk to you about it, Heather, she'd said, in a much more direct tone that she'd been using up to then. I know my brother, he'll just say 'No', whether he wants to or not, whether it'll be good for him or not. I want to know if you think it's a good idea. For him and for you.

So you'd said you weren't sure that it was. But Allison had prevailed upon you, and changed your mind (so it seems to you, in retrospect) not through wheedling and argument, but by describing the relaxation to be had, and about how relatively little such "fun" either you or Garson had taken during your marriage.

He's a homebody, Heather, she said, always has been. He's never liked to travel or do anything, and you at least should have spent some of your father's money on a few trips to Europe. You'll have lots of time to do that later, of course, she'd added, with a crack in her voice. I'll have lots of chances to take you to Florence or to Prague, I know all the places to take you. When you don't have anything to worry about anymore.

So you said you would try to prevail upon Garson to spend a week in Drayton Beach, and Allison then suggested that you invite friends of your own along. So that's how Melissa came to be there too.

And then Brian and Erin (that would be Dennis and Allison's son and daughter-in-law) and their son Eric showed up for a few days.

You suppose it was fun. Dennis and Brian took Garson golfing a couple of times, and yesterday they took him out fishing on the ocean for a couple of hours. You all did some light hiking up and down the dunes, and back into the low hills behind the town. When Garson was occupied with the men, you and Melissa, sometimes with Allison, sometimes with Allison and Erin both, did lots of shopping, picking up new blouses and shawls and skirts and boots. You ate in tearooms and drove around the city, looking at the old, historic homes. And one day you all drove down to Wilmington, to look at the historic homes there, and the art galleries, and the museums, and the battleship North Carolina, sparkling in her retirement berth.

But now that it's all over, you don't remember how you felt during the trip. Oh, it seems like you must have had a good time. You remember laughing and talking happily with Melissa and Allison, you remember squealing (almost like girls again!) over some of the clothes you picked up at the Galleria in Wilmington, and you remember smiling and saying This is so nice! and I'm so glad we came! and This has been so good for Garson, I know he doesn't show it much, but I can tell that this trip has relaxed him so much! And yet all you can remember are the words, and the remembered sensation of certain expressions on your face, and the way your body quivered in the grip of excitement or draped loosely in a chair as you sipped your fourth glass of wine.

"Are you almost ready?" Garson asks as he hefts one of the suitcases onto the floor.

"I've just got my face on," you tell him, and press your lips together to to even out the lipstick. You turn your head from side to side, studying your reflection. Sixty-something years old, you tell yourself, and you do look it, Heather, if you know where to look. But it's a healthy sixty-something, at least, and you know how to wear it well. You touch your hair, which is coarse and bodiless, but purposefully so, because you can't do a thing with it at your age except make it look intentionally so.

"Where do you want to go for lunch?" you ask your husband as you rise from the vanity. You are wearing only a shift over your bra, and stockings over your panties as you stride over to the blouse and skirt that you set out for today. "You want to go back to the Lighthouse? You liked that one a lot."

"I'm sure Allison and Dennis have someplace picked out," he says with a sigh.

"I'm sure they do too," you reply with a light waspishness. "Erin will have told them where to take us." (Brian's wife is pretty, but she's also pretty pushy, and you will be glad to see the back of her head.) "But you should tell them where you want to go," you continue as you sweep up the pearl-white blouse you picked up yesterday on your "last chance" shopping sweep of the town. "Or tell me so I can tell them."

He doesn't say anything, but only stands there watching you with a quizzical frown on his face as you pull together the front of the blouse. "What's wrong?" you ask.

"That's an interesting blouse," he says.

"Oh, you like it? I've got three more like it at home." It's a beige, double-breasted blouse that folds over itself at the waist, where it held by a single button. After getting it settled, you tie a light-green sash around your waist and tie it in a large bow to hide the button.

"I guess I never noticed."

You shoot him a quick but affectionate look, then pick up the gray skirt as you glance around. "Did you accidentally pack my boots?"

Now he looks around. "I guess I did," he says, and hauls one of the suitcases back up onto the bed.

You are swept by a wave of affection, which you quickly tamp back as you zip up and straighten your skirt. But after you've got your boots on, and are settling the last lines of your outfit, you catch Garson looking at your reflection.

"You like what you see?" you tease him.

He frowns a little. "I guess," he says. "Sure," he adds, more firmly. But he looks around with a vague expression.

"What's wrong?" you ask.

It's a moment before he answers. "We never talk like this anymore," he says. "At least not in private."

You pause. What he has said is true. "I guess you're right," you say.

"Well," he sighs. "I guess there hasn't been much point in it. Just carry on in public, that's all we have to do, that's all we have to do, since the—" He hesitates, as though searching for the words. "Since the change."

A ripple like a cold stream of water runs down your back.

"Do you ever think about it?" you ask him. "Do you ever think that— It was us who made the change, you know. But we also got left behind, and here we are."

His expression doesn't shift. He just says, "No, I don't think I think about it all."

And I don't think I ever did either, you realize now that you cast an introspective gaze inward. I don't think I ever thought anything, any more than I ever felt anything. I just did what I was supposed to do.

"Well," you say. "I've got my face on, and you've got yours. Time to be us in public with the family."

Quietly, he picks up the handle to one suitcase, and you pick up the handle to the other, and you wheel them out the door to the rental car.

* * * * *

The flight back to Saratoga Falls, including the plane change for a commuter jet, is mercifully uneventful, but it is still after nine o'clock when you get in. You are exhausted, so it is a relief to know (and to find) that your ride back to town is waiting for you: your daughter, Susanna. She's brought her son with her, which surprises you a little, until he explains that it's because his dad couldn't make it out, and he thought someone should be along to help with the baggage.

"And I know you, gra'ma," he added with a sly smile, "and I didn't know how much you'd be bringing back, so I brought some back up of my own."

So that, supposedly, explains why there's another strapping young man with him.

"This is my friend, Cameron," Don says by way of introduction, and Cameron twinkles knowingly at you and Garson. "We were on the team together last year. And this is his new girlfriend, Rachel."

Your eye goes to the pretty little brunette tucked inside Cameron's arm. She grins back at you.

Her glance is even more knowing than her boyfriend's.

Next: "The Family of Heather Dow" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 5)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)"