Olive Kitteridge - Elizabeth Strout [49]
More gratifying, however, was the fact that for Olive and Henry the story of Bill and Bunny’s offspring was worse than their own. Both couples had only the one child, and Karen Newton—the Kitteridges privately agreed—had created a different level of sadness for her parents. Even if Karen did live next door to Bill and Bunny and they got to see her, and her family, all the time. Last year Karen had carried on a brief affair with a man who worked for Midcoast Power, but decided in the end to stay in her marriage. All this, of course, worried the Newtons profoundly, even though they had never cared a great deal for their son-in-law, Eddie.
And while it had been a really ghastly blow for the Kitteridges to have Christopher so suddenly uprooted by his pushy new wife, after they had planned on him living nearby and raising a family (Olive had pictured teaching his future children how to plant bulbs)—while it had certainly been a blow to have this dream disintegrate, the fact that Bill and Bunny had their grandchildren right next door and the grandchildren were spiteful was a source of unspoken comfort to the Kitteridges. In fact, the Newtons told a story that night about how their grandson had said to Bunny just last week, “You may be my grandmother, but that doesn’t mean I have to love you, you know.” It was a frightful thing—who would expect such a thing? Bunny’s eyes had glistened in the telling of this. Olive and Henry did what they could, shaking their heads, saying what a shame it was that Eddie essentially trained the children to say these things under the guise of “expressing themselves.”
“Well, Karen’s responsible, too,” Bill said gravely, and Olive and Henry murmured, Well, sure, that was true.
“Oh, boy,” said Bunny, blowing her nose. “Sometimes it seems like you can’t win.”
“You can’t win,” Henry said. “You do your best.”
How was the California contingent, Bill wanted to know.
“Grumpy,” Olive said. “Grumpy as hell when we called last week. I told Henry we’re going to stop calling. When they feel like speaking to us, we’ll speak to them.”
“You can’t win,” said Bunny. “Even when you do your best.” But they had been able to laugh, as if something about it were ruefully funny.
“Always nice to hear other people’s problems,” Olive and Bunny had agreed in the parking lot, pulling on their sweaters.
It was chilly in the car. Henry said they could turn the heat on if she wanted, but she said no. They drove along through the dark, an occasional car coming toward them with headlights shining, then the road dark again. “Awful what that boy said to Bunny,” Olive remarked, and Henry said it was awful. After a while Henry said, “That Karen’s not much.” “No,” Olive said, “she’s not.” But her stomach, grumbling and shifting in familiar ways, began some acceleration of its own and Olive became alert, then alarmed. “God,” she said, as they stopped for a red light by the bridge that crossed into the town of Maisy Mills. “I really am ready to explode.”
“I’m not sure what to do,” Henry said, leaning forward to peer through the windshield. “The gas stations are across town, and who knows if they’re open at this hour. Can’t you sit tight? We’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”
“No,” said Olive. “Believe me, I’m sitting as tight as I can.”
“Well—”
“Green, go. Pull into the hospital, Henry. They ought to have a bathroom.”
“The hospital? Ollie, I don’t know.”
“Turn into the hospital, for crying out loud.” She added, “I was born there. I guess they’ll let me use a bathroom.”
There was the hospital at the top of the hill, bigger now with the new wing that had been built. Henry turned the car in, and then drove right past the blue sign that spelled out EMERGENCY.
“What are you doing?” asked Olive. “For God’s sake.”
“I’m taking you around to the front door.”
“Stop the goddamn car.”
“Oh, Olive.” His voice was filled with disappointment, she supposed because of how he hated to have her swear. He backed the car up and stopped in front of the big, well-lighted blue door that