We’re Getting Married, Regardless.
A short story about marriage, cars and strawberries.
“Married men live longer than single men, but married men are more willing to die.” Johnny Carson
The Cavalier was barely six months old, and already Stella wanted a new car. My father only bought the Cavalier so she could get a delivery job. What did she do? She left my father and moved in with my Aunt Betty. Then she called my father, saying she needed a four-door so she could get parcels in and out of the car easier.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” my aunt said to me when she heard. “She applied to Shopper’s Drug Mart and they didn’t need anybody. I don’t think she’s looked through the paper since.”
Aunt Betty was my father’s sister. The whole idea of Stella moving in with her was to give Stella and my father breathing space. They’d been impulsive from the start, meaning their marriage. “She’s half his age, for heaven’s sake,” my aunt said.
Most of the time, Stella just followed Aunt Betty around, shopping or going to those Pick-Your-Own fruit places. As far as Stella was concerned, she liked living the way my aunt did. Except my aunt was retired and in her early seventies. Stella was barely in her early forties.
Stella was the niece of my mother’s best friend, Greta. She’d moved down from Sudbury to live with Greta when Greta’s husband died. When my mother died, everyone figured my father would end up with Greta. Only he ended up marrying Stella instead. Greta never spoke to him again.
My father was one of those “No wife of mine’s ever going to work,” which even my aunt — his sister — thought was a crock.
They got a place north of Fergus, not far from my aunt’s place. Everything was fine until Stella decided she wanted a job. She told my father as much, so he got Stella the Cavalier. Six months later, Stella still didn’t hadn’t found anything. She was hanging out at my aunt’s place instead. Next thing you know, she’s filing for divorce, moving the rest of her things into Aunt Betty’s.
My aunt figured it was just until Stella found a place of her own, only Stella was happy where she was. Every afternoon she’d watch “Divorce Court,” until one day, she told my aunt she was letting my father off easy. “Look what these women are getting,” she said. “I should talk to an attorney.”
Aunt Betty didn’t like that one bit. My father had given Stella forty thousand in the settlement in addition to a Cavalier—and now the new four-door model. What did Stella expect after five years of marriage?
So she sent Stella packing, and what does Stella do? She moves into an apartment next door to my father. Then she gets a cat. The cat’s no problem. My father likes the cat. It’s Stella coming over all the time, taking food out of the fridge. Even when she gets a job at an organics farm north of London, she still comes over every night, saying she’s too tired to cook.
“Your father’s up and down like a yo-yo with that girl,” Aunt Betty told me on the phone one night. “They might as well still be married.”
“Stella was patting him like he was a dog,” Betty told me later.
One day, Aunt Betty was driving back from Orangeville. She decided to drop in on my father. Coming up the driveway, she could see Stella and my father through the window. They were sitting on the couch. Even from a distance, Aunt Betty could tell my father wasn’t well. His face was pale, his eyes all watery. “Stella was patting him like a dog,” Aunt Betty told me later.
My father was having severe abdominal pains and blood in his stools. He’d been up most nights. It’d been going on for three days.
“Why haven’t you called the doctor?” Aunt Betty said to Stella.
My aunt didn’t wait for an answer. She took my father to Emergency.
The doctor suspected rectal cancer. Exploratory surgery was planned for the following Tuesday. I told Aunt Betty I’d go down after work, but she called Tuesday afternoon, saying she’d just left my father. Stella was there when she arrived. They started arguing and Stella told her to leave.
“Can you imagine the cheek of that girl?” my aunt said.
I called my father. His voice was weak and raspy.
“You heard what happened?” he said.
“Aunt Betty’s pretty upset.”
“So’s Stella. I don’t want to get between those two.”
The operation went well and a consultation was arranged for the next day. My aunt and I both went down. Stella wasn’t there when we arrived. The doctor came in, gave us the prognosis, then said they needed to keep him in for observation. “You might want to arrange for a nurse when he gets home,” he said. “The recuperation period could take four to six weeks.”
Aunt Betty stormed out of the room just as Stella was coming down the hall. “He’s all yours,” she said to her.
“We’ll arrange for a nurse,” my aunt said.
“I don’t need a nurse,” my father said. “I got Stella.”
“Stella?” my aunt said. “She can’t even take care of herself.”
My aunt left the room just as Stella was coming down the hall. “He’s all yours,” she said to her. I followed Aunt Betty down to the parking lot. “Of all the crazy things,” she said to me. “Stella.”
After she left, I went back to the room. Stella was rubbing my father’s back.
“Where’s your aunt?” he asked.
“She went home.”
“You might as well hear this first,” he said. “Stella and I are getting married.”
“You just got divorced.”
“We’re getting married, regardless.”
On the phone to my aunt later, she said, “The man’s practically at death’s door, for heaven’s sake. What in the world is she going to do if he dies?”
My father was released from hospital the following week. One complication led another. Stella couldn’t handle the stress. She’d come, she’d go, then she said she didn’t want to get married afterall. That left my aunt running around, trying to find a caregiver, a senior’s home, even palliative care. A home finally took him, but he didn’t socialize, he hated the food. He eventually passed away one morning, just short of his eighty-fourth birthday.
My father wasn’t typically one for surprises, but he certainly surprised us that day. He left Stella’s cat two thousand dollars.
The funeral came and went, then the reading of the will. Stella wasn’t at either of them. My father wasn’t typically one for surprises, but he certainly surprised us that day. He left Stella’s cat two thousand dollars.
Aunt Betty thought that was a hoot. “Let’s see what Stella thinks of that,” she said. Stella was already planning on moving back to Sudbury. Most of her family was there — her parents, her brothers and sisters.
I got a call before she left. She asked if I’d trade my father’s van for her Cavalier. My father had willed me the van. “The Cavalier’s worth a lot more than that thing, Stella,” I said her. “I can’t pay you the difference.”
She wanted the van, anyway, so we did the exchange, signed over ownerships, then she asked if I’d take the cat. So I took the cat and ended up selling the Cavalier to my father’s neighbours. They’d always liked the car — and the cat, believe it or not. They’d been taking care of it since my father went in the hospital. “We’ve grown attached to her,” they said.
So I let them have the cat. Then my father’s lawyer called, asking if I’d seen Stella. He was trying to get in touch with her.
Well, the neighbours, Frank and Ethel, sure didn’t expect any money. They thanked me. They wanted to thank Stella, too, only Stella was gone.
“There’s this matter of the cat’s inheritance,” the lawyer said.
“I gave the cat to the neighbours,” I said.
“Should I give them the money?”
“Go ahead.”
The neighbours, Frank and Ethel, sure didn’t expect that. They thanked me. They wanted to thank Stella, too, only Stella was gone to Sudbury.
I stopped in at my aunt’s place a few days later.
“Imagine the cat getting two grand,” she said. “Serves Stella right. If she hadn’t been so quick to get rid of it, she’d have that money herself.”
“She traded me her car for Dad’s van,” I said.
“That old piece of junk?” she said, going to the kitchen, putting on the coffee. “Honestly, how’s she going to make her way in this world? Giving up a new Cavalier for that thing. Did you tell her it’s a wreck?”
“She said she needed it to move her stuff,” I said.
Aunt Betty was putting biscuits on a plate.
“Two thousand dollars to a cat,” she said, then went downstairs and got some strawberries out of the freezer. Stella and her had picked too many a few months before. They were supposed to be making jam. Then my aunt kicked her out. Aunt Betty figured she was smart getting rid of both—Stella and the strawberries. “Don’t forget them when you go,” she said to me. “I’m not re-freezing them again. They’ll turn to mush.”
We drank our coffee and ate the biscuits. There wasn’t much else to say. Stella was gone, the cat was rich. “Better the cat than Stella,” my aunt said, stirring her coffee. She got up to find her cigarettes. “How’s the Cavalier running, anyway?” she asked. I told her I sold it to the neighbours. “Frank and Ethel?” she said. “What do they need another car for? What’re your driving?”
I told her I picked up a Dodge van at one of the local dealerships. She lit a cigarette and looked out the window. “It’s sure better than that junk your father had.” She sipped her coffee. “How’s Stella going to make it?” she asked.
I thought she meant her going Sudbury, but she meant in general.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Hard to say.”
“At least Frank and Ethel are happy,” she said. “I like those two.”
“So does the cat,” I said.
Aunt Betty was looking out the window again. “I could’ve used two thousand dollars. More than Frank and Ethel, anyway. I should’ve taken the cat.”
She lit another cigarette and pushed the biscuits my way.
Robert Cormack is a satirist, novelist, and blogger. His first novel “You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive)” is available online and at most major bookstores. Check out Skyhorse Press or Simon and Schuster for more details. Other stories and articles by Robert can be found at robertcormack.net.
