The First Part of Chapter 25: Estrangement

Eunice observed, during the dreary months of winter, when the sun was weak and the snow lay deep on the ground, that Clarissa’s mood, already having been down over an extended period, had taken a turn for the worse. The first indicator was the number of times they had seen each other: that figure had dropped, leaving her, in the eyes of Eunice, an automaton, and this particular statistic was significant considering they lived across the street and a few doors down from each other. Her mood couldn’t possibly have been good for the baby she was carrying before the miscarriage, and it was unquestionably bad for her now. The worst thing was that she did not know how to help. Talking about her condition simply reminded Clarissa, and she would dissolve into tears. Finding someone else might help, but of course, she knew that Clarissa was trying to do that. It could also be that men weren't attracted to women with baggage, and being a widow in her thirties would certainly constitute a lot of baggage. Her sad face also seemed to age her; when she was with James, she had looked so vibrant and youthful. Now, as a widow, she looked to be in her forties, even though the change came about in less than a year.

It was not as if she had not tried everything to cheer Clarissa up, as they had gone to the movies together, they had taken in a concert in January, and she had invited her to dinner several times, but she only came occasionally. After the miscarriage, she had grown worse: she had taken to drinking; Eunice had found this out when she saw Clarissa stumbling home one night, and she had heard a similar story from Belinda. Clarissa’s downward spiral was also pulling Eunice with her; she found she had less energy, which on top of her pregnancy––by March, at five months, she had become large––made her a less pleasant person.


Eunice, the older Millers and the older Varrettes were not the only ones impacted by Clarissa’s miscarriage; now that all possibility of Clarissa bearing her descendents were gone, Patricia turned up the pressure on Katherine to find a boyfriend. Katherine knew the real purpose was so that Patricia could call herself a grandmother, and she was not exactly appreciative of the efforts; while the idea of having a boyfriend was nice, the implicit pressure to get pregnant was unwelcome.

“How many men work at your school, Katie?” was the form the question inevitably took over the phone one evening.

“Out of the seventy staff, there are thirty men,”

“How many of them are single?”

“I have never really asked.”

“Come on; in a profession as young as teaching––and I know teaching’s a young profession––there must be some eligible bachelors.” Patricia didn’t actually know that teaching was a young profession––she was simply trying to make stuff up on the fly in an effort to pressure her daughter, her last remaining child, to find someone.

“I’m sure a man will turn up in good time,”

“But honey, what does ‘in good time’ mean?”

“It means that when I want a boyfriend, I will find one.”

“But honey, your biological clock is ticking,”

“Relax; many women have given birth past the age of thirty-one. And is my romantic life all you want to talk about? I told you, I will find a man when I want one; if only they weren’t all such insufferable brutes like Mike.”

“Mike’s just one man, Katie. And Ryan’s a great husband, and a wonderful man, so there’s proof right there that there are good men. Say, why don’t you go on a dating site? I’m sure someone will turn up.”

“Thanks for the relationship advice,” said Katherine, insincerely.

“Bye Kate, and think about it, okay?”

Patricia’s thoughts turned darker as she peeled some potatoes one evening; why had
Clarissa received all the good luck? This callous thought ran through her mind, and the sense of injustice about the possibility of being left without descendents banished her sympathy for Clarissa, and neglected that what Clarissa was going through could hardly be called luck, without the attendant “bad” in front of it. Clarissa, at the present, seemed to her to be a figure out of a fairy tale whose husbands mysteriously die in succession, leaving her to accumulate a fortune. Although in reality the circumstances were innocent, they seemed otherwise to Patricia. Perhaps she failed to rein in Jimmy’s love of salty foods, she thought, ignoring the fact that Clarissa had spent eight months with James, while she had raised him for twenty years, and watched him closely for a further thirteen years.

The next day, she called Katherine again.

“What do you think of Clarissa?”

“Mom, are you all right? Your tone of voice makes you seem on edge,”

“I’m quite all right,” said Patricia, who was increasingly focussing her thoughts on one thing: the belief that Clarissa had carefully planned and orchestrated Jim’s death.

“Well, if you must know––and I’m not so sure of that, myself––I think Clarissa’s an extremely unlucky woman,”

“Do you call inheriting a fine house in a nice neighbourhood bad luck?”

“Aren’t you forgetting that she didn’t only inherit the house, but the mortgage too? The rate’s the same; the monthly payments remain the same, and that mortgage was signed when Jim’s credit rating wasn’t so good, remember? He had a habit of going on spending binges when he was younger; hence the car in that driveway?”

“But it all seems uncanny,”

“Look, mom, why don’t you sleep on it or something,” But Katherine was unsure that sleep would rid her mother of this ridiculous supposition and dubious theory.

“Bye Katie, and get a boyfriend, okay? I worry about you,”

“Really? I think things are not so hunky-dory with yourself.”

Sensing that the conversation could continue and be unnecessarily long, Katherine hung up the phone, and to ensure Patricia would not call back left the receiver off the hook; she didn’t anticipate any important calls, anyways; it was late at night, and concerned parents would call at some different hour.

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