Edna Mayfield (heavily revised)

"Claire," he said as he looked into her eyes, "please don't pull away from me."

"I've made up my mind, and I don't want you to try to talk me out of this."

"I wouldn't do that," he said as he willed her to come back to his side.

She looked at him, then slid across the cockpit seat until she was next to him. He looked in her eyes, saw her fighting to hold back tears, the trembling lips, the shaking hands...

Then he took her in his arms and pulled her close, let her come to terms with the idea he was there for her -- then he felt her relax, felt her arms encircle his, felt her whole body shaking. "I'm sorry your father isn't here to help you now, but I'll be there for you, okay?"

He felt her nod on his chest, felt her silent tears moisten his chest as he looked at Edna, then to Tracy. They all seemed to understand Something Important had just happened, perhaps Jordan most of all that some final barrier had been breeched, then he felt her go from relaxed to almost limp -- and he leaned back a bit and he heard her snoring...

He leaned back and cradled her head in his hands and held her close; Edna watched stunned by Claire's sudden release -- then her shattering news -- and not least of all by her proximate clinging to Jordan. She'd never seen her let go in front of her father, nor even her for that matter, yet Tracy seemed most unsettled by it all.

And why was that? Edna Mayfield asked herself. Tracy looked at Jordan almost possessively now, and from time to time she watched something take shape in her youngest's eyes that was troublingly more than possessiveness. Still, that wasn't what troubled her now.

Here was Jordan, now thrust into an impossible series of emotional hurricanes. His love for her, Tracy's budding infatuation with him -- and now, Claire's implosion. He'd seen parts of the unfolding drama arrive in the mail, but now everything was out in the open. Most important of all, Claire's terrifying emotional ordeal was approaching the uncontrollable -- and she'd reached out to -- Jordan? Why Jordan? What will he think?

Of course she had no way of knowing the exact same thought was running through Jordan's mind. As he held on to Claire the same questions ran through his mind over and over again: 'Why me; why not Edna? What's going on here? And why is Tracy looking at me like that?'

◊◊◊◊◊

18 December

Jordan Douglas ran a snubber to the anchor rode and a trip line to the cleat, then he took a hand-bearing compass and shot a couple of vectors, scribbling the results down on a notepad; Tracy Mayfield stood beside him, asking questions, taking mental notes -- vitally interested in everything he was doing...

"When did you start sailing," she asked when he looked up from his notepad.

"Oh, I don't know exactly. Before I could walk, I'm almost certain..."

She laughed. "All your life, in other words?"

"Yup. Dad was a judge in the city. Rain or shine, every Friday afternoon we'd load up, sail out here someplace and hang out on the anchor 'til Sunday morning."

"Good memories, huh?"

"The best."

"What about your mom? She didn't like sailing?"

He stood up, looked at Fisherman's Wharf and the marina, then at Tracy. "She passed, when I was seven," he said as he looked her in the eye. "I think Dad got the boat for her, she really loved it out on the Bay."

"I'm sorry, Jordan."

He shrugged. "Yeah? Okay. Anyway, when Dad passed a few years ago, I had to decide what to do with her. I have all these memories, of him, of the two of us out here..." He paused, looked down into the water and shook his head. "I couldn't let her go, I guess. I never will."

"She's really gorgeous, the woodwork down below is insane."

"DownEast workmanship is still the best. The glass is almost an inch thick up here at the rail, nearly three inches at the turn of the keel. I had the gelcoat peeled two years ago, then re-glassed and awl-gripped. She'll last another 40 years, I guess."

Tracy turned serious, looked away for a moment -- then back -- looking him in the eye now. "How'd Mom react to the whole abortion thing?"

"She's upset, but I think she understands."

"Claire seemed strange to me yesterday, when she picked me up, and I don't think it has to do with her pregnancy."

"I don't either, and neither does your mother."

"What do you think it is?"

He shrugged. "Complicated...everything's just complicated, Tracy. Apparently, there's quite a history of schizophrenia on your dad's side..."

Tracy nodded, looked away. "I know. Claire used to worry about that a lot."

"Well, your mom thinks that's what's going on; that's where she's going to start looking. I've still got my folk's place in the city, and some contacts there too. After we get you on the plane back east we're going to get her settled, medically -- and otherwise. She won't be going back to school until she's able."

"Are you and my mom going to get married?"

Jordan laughed. "You are direct, aren't you?"

"I don't get to see her enough as is, Jordan. Guess time's short when I'm around, it's always been that way, and there's so much happening now that...well, I tend to worry about her now. After dad and all...she's been through..."

He nodded. "Fair enough. I love her, and she says she loves me, but she worries about you two, how you'd react if we got remarried. I think it's fair for her to feel that way, too. She had you both late in life, and she's grounded to the reality you two will always be there for her. I think she's afraid she'll lose that."

"How do you feel?"

"Me? Hell, Tracy, I wouldn't do a thing to hurt that woman. If getting married would hurt any of you, her -- or you and Claire -- I just wouldn't do it. I feel lucky just to be with her."

"I can see it in your eyes."

"You should feel it in here," he said, pointing to his heart.

"Claire? And going with her to a clinic? Will you?"

"If that's what she wants, I will."

"What are your feelings about abortion?"

"Me? I'm not a woman, so it's none of my business."

Tracy laughed again. "Democrat?"

He shook his head. "Independent. Not real fond of the whole party politics thing, especially these days. If I had to declare, I think I'd list myself as a Druid."

She smiled at that. "What'd you decide to do about tenure, at the college?"

"I turned it down."

"No shit?"

That made him laugh out loud. "Yeah, I did. I miss it here, and there are a few things I want to do that don't involve teaching."

"You're going to be living here?"

"Well, in San Francisco, but yes. For a while, anyway."

"What will you do?"

"Spend every moment I can, with your mother -- if she'll have me."

Tracy Mayfield looked at Jordan when he said that, and felt a shiver run down her spine.

◊◊◊◊◊

"See that silver shack on the end of the pier," Jordan said, pointing to the pier just a few hundred feet away. "There are two seafood places there. Not restaurants...I mean fresh stuff. I'm going to put on some charcoal, so Tracy, why don't you and Claire run over and find us something interesting for dinner?"

"Mom? Are you cooking something?"

"Rice and broccoli, maybe a Hollandaise -- if someone asks nicely..."

"I'm asking," Jordan smiled.

"I don't feel like going," Claire said, so Jordan handed the lanyard and a handful of money to Tracy, then helped her down to the Zodiac. The little Honda started on the first pull, and she puttered across to the dock and tied off, then waved as she walked up the ramp to the wharf. And Claire walked away -- disappearing into the forward stateroom.

"It's funny," he said as he looked at Tracy, "but I don't worry about her out here."

"It's always been that way. Claire's always been fragile, Tracy the adventurous one, tough as nails, very independent."

"And very self-sufficient."

"Like me," Edna Mayfield said.

"Oh? Tired of me already?"

She looked at him and grinned. "I liked sailing last night. More fun than I thought it would be." She was looking at the wharf, following Tracy as she walked into the market. "Bet you a nickel she comes back with salmon."

"I'll take that bet," Jordan smiled knowingly.

"So, you think you're getting to know her?"

"Nope. I know what they usually have there this time of year."

"Cheater. Is that why you haven't started a fire yet?"

He nodded, then: "Have you had a chance to talk with Claire?"

"Nope. Morning sickness again."

He smiled, shook his head. "Has she always been so good at putting things off?"

"Started about five minutes after birth."

He chuckled. "Why am I not surprised. She does know how to pout, doesn't she?"

"She learned that from me, too."

"I love you," he said, out of the blue, and she looked at him, took his hand.

"Tracy asked if we're going to get married. Has she asked you too?"

He nodded, whispered a little 'yup' as he looked at her.

"And?"

"I said I'd love to, but I wanted to make sure the girls were okay with the idea."

"Tracy will be fine. Claire won't be."

"I know. Then we'll need to talk to her."

"No," Edna Mayfield said, "we won't. If you love me enough to marry me, that's all I need to know. I don't need my daughters' approval, I just need your love."

"Okay." He looked at the set of her jaw, the anger he saw in her eyes, and he wondered how much of the story he really knew nothing about. "Ah...here she comes," he said as he watched Tracy walk back to the Zodiac -- the sacks she carried were huge -- and he smiled again. "We'll probably need to get some water on to boil," he said as he watched her get in the inflatable and start the motor. "Hope you like crab..."

When he helped her aboard and got the haul down to the galley he handed four pound of picked Dungeness crab to Edna, then four abalone steaks and a mound of cooked shrimp. Two quarts of crab chowder and cocktail sauce filled out on bag, and the second was full of fresh baked sourdough bread.

He took out a skillet and began browning butter, tossed in some garlic and a pinch of cayenne, let it simmer while he picked through the crab for stray bits of shell, then he buttered some of the sliced bread and ran it under the broiler. He skimmed fat from the butter, then added some bourbon to it and cut the flame to low before he chopped some pecan. He tossed the crab in the butter and stirred it, then added the chopped pecan and stirred some more.

By now all the girls had gathered round and were watching -- and smelling -- the action; he pulled the buttered toast out and sliced them into smaller squares, then took the crab and ladled nice clumps onto each piece of toast. He diced some shrimp, not all of it, then did the same thing to the next batch, adding more crab to the mix as well.

He stopped and looked at the crab and toast, tides of memory washing over him. "My dad and I used to cook this when we came down here. Just like this. There was a couple from the UK anchored here, the woman showed us how to make this, only she used rum. I've tried it both ways...like the complexity of bourbon better..."

"If you have some rum, let's try it that way," Tracy said.

"Sounds to me like you're ready to learn how to cook on a sailboat. Why don't you go ahead...I need about a half hour to get these abalone ready to go."

He toasted more bread, put the crab and shrimp mix on and turned the burners over to Tracy, then turned to make a wash and dredge for the abalone. It took ten minutes just to pound them out, and Edna groaned as she looked at the mess taking shape in the galley.

◊◊◊◊◊

He loaded the wood-burning fireplace after dinner was cleared away, but Claire disappeared in a cloud of silence, shut the door to her stateroom as Tracy looked after her.

"Mom, I've never seen her this depressed, and some of the things she's saying worry me."

"I'll fix some coffee," Jordan said. "Why don't you two go up. The cockpit's closed now, and it'll warm up fast." He put another chunk of cedar on the fire, then brewed a fresh pot, fixed three Irish coffees and took them up.

"That was some supper, Jordan," Edna said. "My cholesterol will be 450 tomorrow, but it was worth it..."

"Tomorrow we eat salad!" Tracy said.

"Tomorrow we spend with Claire," he said. "We get her out and about..."

"And if she doesn't want to?" Tracy asked -- having been down this road before. "Then what?"

Edna sighed. "Then we take her up to the medical center."

"Then I take her for a drive," Jordan said, as he looked down at his hands.

"Do you really think that's the answer, Jordan?" Edna said. "Killing that baby isn't going to magically cure her."

"I think that may be true, but a psychiatric commitment isn't going to do her a hell of a lot of good at this point."

"What about the aquarium? It's just right over there," Tracy said, pointing to the far side of the harbor. "Why don't we all go, let her walk it out in the sunshine. Maybe she'll talk to, oh, hell, to whoever."

Edna's arms were crossed and she was looking out into the darkness, tired of Claire and 'all her interminable bullshit.' She turned and looked at Jordan, and Tracy, suddenly filled with hate for them both. She took a long pull on her coffee then looked out into the night.

◊◊◊◊◊

Tracy and Claire took the Zodiac over to the aquarium early the next morning, leaving Jordan alone with Edna down below. She didn't feel sexy now, nor even desirable, yet Jordan seemed to think she was and she tried -- for his sake -- but she was bored with lovemaking now. After a few minutes he stopped, sat up and looked at her.

"Where are you this morning?" he asked after a minute of burning silence.

"Not here," she said.

"Is it Claire?"

She turned and looked at the easy, earnest love in his eyes, and she didn't know how to say what she needed to say, so she sighed, took a deep breath and jumped right in. "Jordan, what I looked forward to most, when the girls left for school, was time alone with Stanton. Then he fell ill, and soon he was gone. Then I found you -- and yet here they are again, intertwining, running their tentacles through my life again, commanding attention, coming between me and whatever life I have left. I've grown tired of Claire's games, of poor Tracy always trying to fix everything, even you and me."

"They're your children, Edna..."

"They're children, Jordan, not a life sentence. You raise your children, then they move on. You don't take care of them after a certain age. They have to learn to stand on their own two feet."

"They do. That's true, but Claire's in trouble. What do you propose to do now?"

"I was thinking of taking her home, to see Dr Wilburtson."

"Her pediatrician? Edna, she's 22 years old, and she needs to see a psychiatrist."

"Piffle."

"Why don't you let me handle it, Edna? I don't mind."

"That's sweet of you, Jordan, but it's not your responsibility."

"What if I was the girls' step-father? Whose responsibility would it be then?"

"Mine."

"Not ours?"

"No, Jordan. I appreciate the offer, really, I do, but I don't want you to be so involved now, not yet. Maybe the time will come, but not yet."

"I see," he said as he sat up. "So, you want to take her home? When?"

"I think today, this evening, perhaps."

He stood, walked to the galley and got a glass of water, then walked up to the cockpit. He heard her below, heard the shower run, then listened as she got dressed, made reservations. She came up a few minutes later and sat beside him.

"I've made reservations for the three of us," she said frostily. "Could you run us ashore? I've got a taxi coming."

"Of course."

"I texted Tracy. They're on the way now."

"I see." He watched her turn and go below, then helped the girls up when they motored alongside. When they had their bags ready, he ran them ashore.

And all the time Edna ignored him.

Tracy looked hurt, yet something he saw in her eyes told him she had expected something like this to happen.

Claire smiled. One more victory in a long line, she thought.

◊◊◊◊◊

May 17^th

She sat in her garden, in the shade of a vast trellis, admiring her efforts.

Claire was in her eighth month now, the baby due in June, and Tracy was flying home tonight, home for the summer. And work on Stanton's memoirs and correspondence was proceeding apace; at the rate she was going work would conclude by the end of summer, then she could send the work off to her publisher. She looked at the apartment over the garage from time to time, allowed herself to think about Jordan Douglas and all his impossible hopes and dreams, and she smiled at her little indiscretion. The impossibility of him...he was just a boy, after all! Still, he had been such a pleasant diversion...

Later that afternoon she drove out to the little airport and waited for Tracy's plane; it was fifteen minutes late but there she was, walking down the concourse, trailing a little rolling carry-on. They hugged and walked to the baggage claim, then carried her two suitcases out to Edna Mayfield's pale yellow Cadillac, and yet Edna wondered why Tracy was so quiet, so...almost somber?

"How was your term, Tracy? Grades alright?"

And Tracy looked at her mother and smiled. "I suppose so. Why?"

"You suppose?"

"Have you heard from Jordan?"

"Jordan? Why, no. Have you?"

"Not really. I texted him a few times, but never heard much from him."

"What does 'not really' mean?"

And Tracy just looked at her mother and smiled. She looked out at the college, at all the familiar houses on the way to FoxWood Lane, then the vast lawn in front of her house -- all the landmarks that had defined the perimeters of her life since she came into this world.

It was remarkable, she thought, how much like a prison this town felt. And yet here she was, once again locked away in the air-conditioned comfort of her mother's various cocoons. How much of her life had been, she observed, like this car? Elegant to a certain practiced eye, and comfortable -- more than comfortable, really -- the car, like the house, set them apart. Held them away from their neighbors. The car was a statement, the house too. And the life she led now?

Harvard and Stanford, not Oregon State or even the college down the lane.

Her father's gorgeous house, and all it had ever been was a kind of museum, a monument to her father's wealth. And to hold them -- apart.

The boarding schools since middle school, since they'd been 11 years old, and the nannies before that. She remembered one girl with affection, a twenty year old girl from Aberdeen, the one source of affection she'd been able to count on -- all through childhood. Her mother, she knew, had outsourced their childhood, came around to take on a parental role when it was convenient -- then she shed it all like a winter coat on a summer day when she returned to the games she and her father played in Washington.

And now, to validate it all, her mother was grooming a successor.

'Me,' she said to herself.

She looked at the house -- and Jordan's room above the garage -- as her mother pulled up the drive -- and while she had no idea what she wanted in life she felt all this was the last thing she wanted to be around. The last way she wanted to spend her life.

She carried her bags up to the second floor, to her old room -- and it too was another little museum piece now. All her things from childhood were gone now, the furnishings now in keeping with the rest of the house. All neglect papered over, her mother's museum was now a bastardized creation that wiped away the past. She put her bags on the bed, then walked down to Claire's room...

When she knocked she heard a muffled 'come-in' over the television and opened the door. Claire had a tray pulled up to the bed, a half-eaten bag of potato chips and an empty bowl of ice cream by her side. Tracy gasped when she saw her sister -- she had to weigh 250 pounds now -- and she was completely unrecognizable -- save the eyes -- which seemed lost and full of misery.