As the summer of 1967 ended, so did Perrin's decorating. Having set her sights on making the perfect home for her husband, she confidently walked room-to-room, knowing she wouldn't change anything.
For her boys, who'd always shared a room, she converted two bedrooms into a single space, installing racks and lockers for their sporting equipment, shelves for all their trophies, and carpet simulating a football field. In Sharon's room, playful fairies and angels slid down the wallpaper's spiraled candy-stripes, and the pink shag carpet was so deep it felt like wading through strawberry Fluffernutter. Originally meant as a mother-in-law suite, the room had its own bathroom and walk-in closet. There were two dressers, a dressing table and mirror, and a white, filigree canopy flowing above the twin bed.
Sharon's fancy dolls, the Madame Alexander's her grandmother had given her for Christmas and birthdays, were displayed in a glass-fronted cabinet. And in the closet were double bars for hanging clothes, shelves for toys and games, with a wheeled steamer trunk full of her Barbies. At this point, though, the girls' on-coming adolescence had mostly orphaned the dolls.
For the master bedroom, Perrin installed a king-sized bed with a large mirrored headboard and chrome-accented furniture that paralleled the decor throughout the house. Bob wanted a fresh start and got precisely that. Nearly every stick of furniture was new, shiny, and whenever possible, chrome and leather. Perrin tried keeping things from their old life, but Bob instructed her to discard it.
At Perrin's mere mention of wanting something, Bob puffed out his chest. "Just let me know the store and salesman's name," he would say, "and I'll take care of it."
Perrin had no idea where the money came from. It certainly didn't come from their joint checking account. She only knew that a call would come a day or two after Bob the information.
"Mr. MacCalaster asked me to inform you that he's taken care of the payment, ma'am," the store's manager would tell her. Then, with the deference of a salesman hoping for further business, he'd ask what delivery date and time best suited her schedule; because, of course, his men would rework their schedule for Mr. MacCalaster's wife. While it all seemed very odd, Perrin quickly found herself seduced by the special attention being Mrs. Bob MacCalaster brought.
Perrin never dared question Bob about any of it. He was the man of the house, and financial decisions were his alone. Still, something seemed off-kilter. To the best of her accounting, redecorating alone cost more than his yearly salary. Yet every week, he gave her an allowance far exceeding what she needed for food and incidentals. And when the topic of school clothes came up, Bob gave her more cash. Saying he wanted his daughter to be the best-dressed kid in school.
Endless as it appeared, the money came with a tradeoff. Bob spent two nights a week at his apartment in Hartford – the exact location of which he never made clear. Another one or two nights a week, Perrin could expect a call saying he was entertaining clients and wouldn't be home until after dinner. She accepted the situation. However, when wisps of concern did arise, Bob contained her questions with a fire-line of guilt before they could spread.
"I miss you and the kids so much it hurts," he told her one night when she tried deviating from his script. "You think I'm doing this for me? That Bob enjoys being away from you and the kids. No way Babe. But someone's gotta bring home the bacon, and that someone's your Big Bob."
"But Dad worked at Atlantic Equitable for 32 years, and he never came home later than 6:00. Has the insurance business changed so much since he passed away?"
"Oh, Perr, you know how much Pop meant to me. Other than a couple of coaches, he's the closest I came to having a father. But face it, he was nothing more than an actuary. Don't get me wrong; we need the pencil pushers. But it's men like me that bring in the business. Remember what I've always told you."
"I know, 'Salesmen make the business, everyone else should just do what they're told'," she recited, having been convinced his maxim was no slight against her father.
"Atta girl. Now Bob's gotta get back in the game, you just keep cheering him on, and everything's gonna be fine."
"Alright, Bob, I understand."
"Of course you do; that's why you're my girl. If I could be with you and the kids, you know I would. But I have to create the relationships that make everything possible. My boys' college tuition is gonna come along sooner than you think, and don't you want a nice long retirement?"
"I know Bob. Just remember how much we appreciate all of your sacrifices."
"Good girl. Now I'll call you tomorrow and give my daughter a big kiss from her daddy."
In Bob's eyes, life exceeded his every expectation. With Perrin and the kids safely parked in Metuchin, he had his time "to do," as he joked with friends, "what a man does." His duties as Regional Manager included overseeing six local offices, implementing the brokers' incentive programs, and approving all major payouts. Within his domain, Bob MacCalaster signed off on every major reimbursement for loss from fire, flood, theft, or accident. With Bob's signature attached, Atlantic Equitable's accounting department cut a check immediately, no questions asked.
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On their first day of school, Linda and Sharon planned to meet in front of the cafeteria at lunch. Because of Linda's unique schedule, taking math and science classes at the high school across the street, they hadn't seen each other all morning. Linda walked up, anxious to swap stories about classes and teachers, and saw Sharon talking to the three most popular girls in school – including Janie Locklear's older sister Michele.
Linda's heart clenched. The popular girls had seen Sharon on the beach, and the ones with older brothers already knew Tim and Jim. So they assumed Sharon, being so pretty and from a well-to-do family, would naturally become part of their clique. But Sharon didn't say 'I'm eating with these girls,' as they told her to. Instead, a very different conversation ensued.
"Hey, Lin-Lin," Sharon yelled with an exaggerated wave, recognizing from Lind's gait that she was trying not to limp. Then, turning to the other girls, she said, "Guess I'll see you around; we're going in to eat."
"I can't believe you're waiting for her. You should sit at our table, Sharon," one of the girls said, looking straight at Linda.
Sharon may not have been in advanced classes, but she knew this moment was inevitable. She'd mulled it over all summer and knew exactly how she would handle it. "No thanks. I'm eating with Linda; we haven't seen each other all morning."
Then things turned nasty – adolescent girl nasty. "Why would you want to be seen with a deformed little freak like her? Just look at her." Michele Locklear scoffed.
"We know you hung out with her this summer, but if she wasn't a cripple, she'd probably be a slut just like her sister," the third one chimed in.
Shock and disgust overwhelmed Sharon. Then the girl who spoke first, clearly the Alpha-Nasty, looked directly at her, completely ignoring Linda. "Yeah, Sharon, we know you hung around with her, and I guess that's okay, but if you're going to be seen with her, we won't be your friends."
As the words pelted Linda, her shoulders sank with her spirits. She'd been teased all her life, as had her brother Arthur. Now, the Stapelton's place within the hierarchy of Metuchin's youth sullied Sharon. Linda wondered if she should slink away, then felt Sharon's fingers intertwining with hers. With kids screaming and rushing past them in the crowded hallway, things to say flooded Sharon's mind. But over the din came Perrin's voice sing-songing one of the instructional phrases she'd instilled in her daughter, "Remember; only ugly girls say ugly things."
"Linda's my best friend," Sharon said, straightening her skirt, being sure to keep her best Perrin MacCalaster happy face painted on, "and we're going to eat lunch together every day. But there's lots of other tables, so you'll find somewhere to sit."
"You shouldn't of done that," Linda said as they got in line for lunch.
"Why. Who do they think they are?"
"They're like the most popular girls in school, and if you're not friends with them, you won't get invited to parties and stuff like that."
"Well, boo-hoo. Like we'd want anything to do with them anyway," she said, brushing the incident aside, more interested in knowing about different teachers and hearing about Linda's adventure to the high school. Michele Locklear and her friends tried telling Sharon she shouldn't be friends with Linda several times but always met a similar attitude. Always politely, Sharon told them she and Linda were best friends, and nothing could change that.
Having swapped their swimsuits and oversized T-shirts for school clothes (a change for Linda that included an entire wardrobe of Sharon's perfectly kept hand-me-downs), the girls fell into a new routine.
When the school year began, Perrin told Sharon there would be no visiting until after she finished her homework. She revised that decree after seeing Linda help Sharon. Linda exhibited limitless patience, finding different ways to explain the same math problem until one finally caught in Sharon's mind. The MacCalaster's house became the girl's after-school destination. Upon arrival, Perrin would feed them a snack, quiz them on their day, and send them upstairs to do homework, feeling her daughter in excellent hands. Linda even occasionally helped Tim, although the younger Jim would never consider asking someone younger, and on top of that a girl, for help.
One afternoon in late September, they walked into the kitchen after school and found Perrin perkier than usual. "Sharon, my baby doll, guess who's coming to visit this weekend?"
"I don't know, but something smells good. We're starving. Lunch was yucky." Sharon said, making a beeline for the refrigerator, standing with the side-by-side doors wide open, staring at the contents.
"Hello Linda, don't you look pretty today. Would you like a brownie? I just finished making them. They have marshmallows and frosting, just the way you like them," Mrs. MacCalaster said. "I guess my angel was traumatized by her lunch. Now all she can do is gaze into the icebox while her friend eats scrumptious brownies."
"It wasn't so bad," Linda said, forcing a smile. "They had macaroni and tomato sauce." Linda had grown comfortable around the MacCalasters. Even though Perrin's energy level gave her the feeling she got when someone played with an overly blown-up balloon.
"Well, you sit down. You can have two since my daughter is forever going to be staring into the icebox."
"I was just getting out the milk," Sharon finally said, handing her mother the milk and kissing her. "I'm trying to help."
As the girls ate their brownies, Perrin told them Sharon's Grandmother was coming to visit. Before the MacCalasters moved, Sharon stayed over at her house nearly every week. But she had only seen her once since they moved.
When Sharon's grandmother arrived, the girls were in Sharon's room listening to music and pretending to be the teenagers on American Bandstand. Sharon had told Linda all about her Grammy, describing her as "old, but not like an old lady." Her husband had died on a hunting trip, and since then, she went on exotic vacations, taking cruises and tours to Europe. Best of all, Sharon said, wherever she traveled, she brought back presents for her favorite granddaughter.
Sharon bound down the stairs when she saw her grandmother's car pull in the driveway. Opening the door, though, she barely recognized the woman standing in front of her. Her grandmother had lost weight, and her skin had developed an ashen hue. Seeing Sharon's expression, Grammy deflected, saying she came to get a big hug because that would make everything better.
Linda followed Sharon down the stairs, trying her best to keep up, but the MacCalaster's staircase was too wide for her to hold both banisters, so she proceeded slowly. Linda was introduced to Grammy and then, feeling more out of place than usual, followed Sharon, her mother, and grandmother into the living room.
Grammy gushed about the house, although from the tenor of her comments, the Mod decor was not to her liking. She asked Sharon about her new school and Linda about her family. With that out of the way, she told the girls she needed to speak to Perrin and to run upstairs. First, though, she needed her purse because she had a present for Sharon. The girls filed out, and Sharon took her grandmother's purse back into her, telling Linda to wait, that her grandmother always brought her a special kind of chocolate.
"Now here's something sweet for my favorite granddaughter," she said, handing Sharon a huge candy bar. "Now, you share this with your little crippled friend. I think it's so nice of you to be friends with her."
"Linda's not crippled Grammy," Sharon said emphatically, her instinctual response to defend Linda temporarily trumping the blind respect she held for her grandmother. "She just walks funny cuz of an accident when she was a baby. And it's not like I'm her friend because I feel sorry for her. She's my best friend." Sharon hung on the verge of tears, not believing the most sophisticated person in her world thought she befriended Linda out of pity.
Grammy's concerns were elsewhere, and she ignored Sharon's tone. "That's nice of you to say, but you need to run upstairs. I have to speak with your mother."
Walking up the stairs, Sharon handed Linda the candy bar. "What does the wrapper say," she asked, assuming because Linda took French and Latin that she could read anything in a foreign language.
"I don't know, some of it's in German, I think, and right now I have to struggle just to hobble up to your room," Sharon knew her grandmother's comment hurt Linda's feelings but figured if she was already making a joke about it, it couldn't be too bad.
Perrin walked to the doorway in time to see the girls at the top of the stairs. "She sure is growing up fast," Perrin said, turning back toward her mother. "It seems faster than it did with the boys. I guess we'll see her starting a family of her own before we know it."
"Well, that's how the Good Lord planned it," Perrin's mother said, leaning back into the couch with a heavy breath. "Now come, sit down with me; there's something I need to tell you."
"What's wrong, Mom? You look tired. Are you sure everything's alright?"
"Of course it is. I just want to tell you how proud I am of you. You've raised such a wonderful family, and you know I'd be right here to watch my granddaughter grow up if I could," Perrin closed her eyes, bracing for what she knew the following words would confirm. "But that doesn't seem to be in the Lord's plan. I went to the doctor last week, and I'm going to be reunited with your father; I have cancer Perrin, and there's nothing the doctors can do to stop it."
Perrin accompanied her mother back to Hartford, settling her into a rest home they knew would be her final residence. Then, commuting for her mother's final weeks, Perrin comforted her mother and helped her brother tie up the family's loose ends.
Linda went to Sharon's house the afternoon after Grammy passed. Sharon was still sad but had cried out most of her tears. She told Linda how weird it felt to think she wouldn't see her grandmother again and that they were leaving the following morning for Hartford. "I'm a little scared to go to her funeral. Tomorrow, we're going to her wake, that's when everyone comes up and tells you how bad they feel she died, and she'll be in the front of the room in a coffin. Then the next day is her funeral at our old church. My dad said there'll be like 100 people there. I hope no one knows we don't really go to church anymore."
"Wow, a hundred people, who are they all?" Linda wondered.
"They're all her family and friends and stuff, I don't know," Sharon said, still worried about how to answer questions she knew her old Sunday school teacher would be asking about the family's "new church."
Since moving to Metuchin, the MacCalasters hadn't stepped foot in Christ the King, the closest Catholic Church. Bob declared that the family no longer needed it on their first weekend, a decision that went over well with his sons. Perrin chocked up dismissing the faith of her childhood as an acceptable casualty – a battle she willingly conceded to win the greater war.
Daydreaming in school the next day, Linda thought about Sharon's Grandmother's service. She couldn't remember ever going to a funeral. It made her sad to wonder what would happen if someone in her family died. There certainly wouldn't be 100 people. Other than Sharon, she couldn't think of a single person who would come.
By mid-December, Perrin's holiday-mania reached full-tilt. She decorated every inch of the house. Even the guestroom received a Christmas makeover. Sharon and Linda made a game out of searching out Perrin's latest additions when they came home from school, one day finding Elf, Santa, and Reindeer finials topping every lamp in the house. The backdrop of overindulgence provided Linda with a particularly discomforting contrast between their families. Most years, Gloria feigned Christmas cheer, cutting out a recipe for cookies, sometimes even making them. This year, nothing. To make matters worse, Sharon and her family were leaving for a vacation in Florida the day after Christmas.
The night before Christmas Eve, Linda came home from the MacCalaster's and saw her sister struggling with a tree lying in the living room. "Wow, where did that come from?" Linda asked. "Dad's car isn't in the driveway."
"Oh good, you're home," Eliza gasped, having nearly conceded her battle with the tree stand. "I called Sharon's, and her mother said you'd already left. What's up with her? I think she called you 'Pookie-pie'. What the fuck's a pookie-pie?"
"That's just how she is. She's super nice, though," Linda said a little defensively. "Where's Dad? And where did that tree come from, and where's Mom?"
"Dad's still at work cuz it's Christmas. So James and I got the tree. Pretty cool, huh. We cut it down in the woods off Cross Road, behind your old school. James dragged it out and put it in the back of his van. I told him I couldn't handle not having a tree. And if you want Mom, she's passed out in her room." Linda flinched at her sister's comment. "Now get over here and help me; I think this fucking things on straight. Let's stand the tree up. As you can see, your brother isn't helping."
"You told me not to help. You told me just sit here and watch TV. That's what you said. You said, 'go ahead, just sit there watching TV while I do every-fucking-thing myself. That's what you said," Arthur piped in, trying to defend himself.
With that, the sisters laughed, Arthur finally got up to help, and the three of them put the tree in the spot by the window. Eliza sent Arthur upstairs to the attic to get the box of decorations while she and Linda made a half-hearted attempt to pick pine needles off the floor. Once Arthur came back with the family's decorations, the three of them joked, laughed, and trimmed the tree. For a brief time, it felt to Linda like she supposed a family should during the holiday, decorating a tree at Christmas.
Mercifully, the holiday came and went quickly. It snowed the night Sharon got back from Florida. She called Linda to tell her all about the trip, how they stayed at a hotel right on the beach, and all about the ocean - how warm the water was and how the sand there was different. Sharon even brought her back a bottle of ocean water. Linda listened, a little envious, then explained how different their beach would be in the winter. The sand would be crunchy, and the winter completely changed the shoreline. They decided they'd bundle up the next day and go investigate. That night Linda could barely sleep. She wanted to see Sharon, hear about her trip, and show her the winter sand.