Free The Memory Garden by Mary Rickert Page B

sexual element to Howard’s new interest in Mavis, but how shocking is it to discover it doesn’t matter? Once, Nan believed that when Mavis lost her sexual power she would be left completely depleted, but this is not the case.
    After dinner, Mavis, Howard, and Bay sit on the front steps, chatting. Nan’s bones are too stiff for such a posture, especially with all the cleaning she did to prepare for her guests; she remains at the table with Ruthie.
    “When I go to Africa,” Mavis is saying to her young audience.
    “Oh heavens,” Ruthie whispers, “she’s not still talking about Africa!”
    Nan and Ruthie muffle giggles behind their hands. Howard and Bay sit at Mavis’s feet, their backs toward Nan; she imagines adoring expressions.
    “I plan to live in Africa.” Mavis’s raspy voice rises out of the dark.
    Ruthie turns to Nan, eyebrows raised. “Doesn’t she realize she’s old?”
    Nan shrugs. Mavis can’t be serious. Had she really wanted to go to Africa, she would have done so, instead of talking about it for sixty-some years! The realization makes Nan sad. If there was anyone who seemed destined to follow her dreams, it was Mavis. How does it happen? Nan wonders. How do the girls with dreams as big as the world end up old women with regrets?
    Bay appears to be focusing most of her attention on Howard. It is difficult to hear what he is saying, his voice is gently modulated, but it sounds as though he might be reciting a poem. Nan wishes she could hear better, but Howard has one of those voices that always makes the listener lean close. It would be annoying, if he didn’t have such a pleasant face for leaning closer to, in spite of the troublesome bruise.
    When he finishes, there is a long silence until Bay and Mavis speak at once. Bay stops short, of course. Mavis has a powerful voice.
    “That needs work, darling.”
    Howard lowers his head. Bay’s sweet voice gushes, “It’s a really nice poem.”
    “It’s not good enough, not nearly good enough, but who knows how good you could be if you dedicate your life to it?”
    Howard speaks, again too low to hear.
    Ruthie sighs. “Here she goes again. How does she make people listen to her?”
    Well, there it is, the unbearable truth. When it mattered most, when Nan knew better, she buckled under the great weight of Mavis’s certainty. It’s a wonder thoughts of Eve stayed at a distance this long. She should be at this reunion, sitting at the table with them, talking about her family, her own children and grandchildren. After all, Eve was the one out of the four of them who the children really loved.
    Mavis was so bossy, the kids at camp were afraid of her. Ruthie liked the children, and they seemed to like her, but she was forgetful, tended to be late to activities, and had trouble with the physical exertion. Nan tried to be interested in the young campers, but the truth is she’d taken the job to be with her friends and get away from her mother. Also, Nan can admit this now: she much preferred reading books in the shade of her porch, a big glass of lemonade nearby, to the buggy forest, or the stinky glue of pinecone crafts, which gave her a headache. Eve taught the girls how to weave dandelion chains and do water ballet, cheering the little ones whose toes barely cleared the surface. It was Eve who organized the campfires and told the best stories. “They have to be just a little scary,” she scolded Mavis one night after she’d offered up a terrible tale about a murderer in the woods. Later, when the girls had nightmares, it was Eve’s name they called.
    Of course, Eve was made immediately older by her mother’s death. She had to learn at a very young age how to take care of her little brothers and run a household. Now Nan wonders if Eve’s wild side was part of her character or a rebellion of sorts. She was the one, after all, who stole the bottles of wine from the camp kitchen after the end of summer dance, saying she didn’t care that James