She nodded, holding her smile. Then she remembered something and rose like a woman years older. “I have to do a few things our accountant told me to do. Get some numbers together. Your father did all of this for us, but he made sure to show me how.”
“Can I help?”
“No, it’s nothing terribly complicated. Just finish your work. I won’t be long,” she assured me.
I completed my homework and took my books back upstairs. After I dressed for bed, I checked to see if she had come up. She hadn’t, so I went down to the office to look in on her. She was asleep in Papa’s desk chair, her head in what looked like a very uncomfortable position.
“Mama!” I cried.
She looked as if she had gone beyond sleep, her mouth slightly open. Her eyes fluttered, and she sat up. “Oh.” She looked at the papers on the desk. “I finished everything and just . . . I took a pill earlier,” she said.
“What kind of pill?”
“A pill the doctor gave me to stay calm. It’s nothing, but it does make me a little drowsy. I’ll just go to sleep. Wash that worry off your face,” she told me, smiling, and stood up. “Come on. Allons. We’ll both go to sleep.”
I walked alongside her and then behind her as we climbed the stairs. She turned to hug and kiss me good night and went to her bedroom.
What ages someone faster than deep sorrow? When people were together as long as my parents were, what happens to one, happens to the other in subtle ways. It was as though sadness was as contagious as any disease, and death didn’t just slip in and out silently. When it touched someone close to you, it left its mark on you, too. A little of the darkness slipped in and settled on your soul, waiting patiently for the rest of it.
I was afraid for Mama, but I channeled my fear into an almost obsessive determination to do well in school during the following days. Suddenly, coming to life again seemed to be the best way to help Mama get healthy and stronger. My hand was up in every class, answering questions almost before my teachers asked them. I aced one quiz after another and put smiles on the faces of my teachers. My new energy and efforts attracted everyone’s attention. Some of my classmates began to talk to me again, joining me at lunch or walking with me in the hallways.
Chastity watched timidly from the sidelines, unsure of how I would react to any attempt she made to reconnect with me. I didn’t discourage her, but I didn’t pursue her, either. Nevertheless, she soon began to attempt some small talk, hesitant to have longer than a ten- or twenty-second conversation because I didn’t appear that interested. I just didn’t want things to get back to the way they were. I wanted her to understand that I wouldn’t tolerate any more talk about Roxy.
One afternoon, I let her walk home with me after school. She parted with “Maybe we can do something together this weekend.”
“Maybe,” I said, but I didn’t pursue it or bring it up again.
Of course, I was eager to get home every day to find out how Mama was and what her doctors were telling her. She told me everything was good. I shouldn’t worry. She did seem a little more energetic. She even began talking about our trip to France when my vacation began. Buoyed by this, I even flirted a little with a tenth-grade boy, Richard Erikson. He had dark brown hair, eyelashes that would make any model jealous, and an infectious smile. He wasn’t part of Evan’s group and was quite shy himself. Right now, that seemed to be the safest type of boy to know. We sat at lunch together a few times. He was a good student and a very good reader, and he seemed to know something about almost any subject I mentioned. But he was far from an egghead or a nerd and very humble about his brilliance.
Chastity was disappointed again when she saw that I was starting another relationship. I knew she was hoping that we’d renew our friendship and be satisfied with just each other. She retreated and worked on a friendship with some other girls in our class who were almost as unpopular as she was. I didn’t care at all. I could feel that I had changed in many ways, grown older, yes, but even a little calmer and more self-assured. I was settling into a new groove, finding myself comfortable again in ways I didn’t think I would while I remained at that school.
I still looked forward to the end of the day and rushing back to see how Mama was and what she needed. Richard wanted to walk me home, but he was also on the school’s basketball team and had to stay after for practice every day. I hung around for a little while occasionally to watch the team practice. He wasn’t a starter, but he did get in often and would look toward me to see if I was watching.
And then, one afternoon after I had watched his practice for about fifteen minutes, I left to go home and stopped like someone who had walked into an invisible wall when I turned onto the sidewalk and started to cross the street. She was standing beside the rear door of a sleek black limousine and for a moment looked like a model posing for a photo to advertise the car. Dressed in a green skirt and jacket with her hair pinned up, Roxy beckoned to me.
I hesitated like someone who first wanted to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. Papa’s angry words returned. He had repeated them more than once, and once not long before he died. “You’re never to mention her name in my presence and never to speak to her for the rest of your life. If you do, you’re as good as dead to me, too.”
Anger, I told myself, causes people to say and do things they wouldn’t do if they could think calmly, clearly, and intelligently. I had to believe that. I didn’t want to see such venom in my father, no matter what Roxy had done.
I started slowly toward her. When I was nearly there, she opened the limousine door.
“Get in,” she said.
I looked into the limousine like someone about to enter enemy territory.
“It’s all right,” she said when I hesitated. “I won’t bite or infect you in any way.”
I glanced at her. Seeing her close up now, I realized she had Papa’s eyes and that little smile on her lips he formed when he was being playful. But she was also so much like Mama when Mama was her age. Her complexion was as perfect as that of a model who had been airbrushed in a photo. I got in, and she followed.
The driver didn’t look back.
“Take us through the park, Jeffery, s’il vous plaît,” she said. Her use of French raised my eyebrows. She pushed a button, and the window divider between us and the driver went up. The limousine started away.
“You remind me so much of myself at your age,” she began. She didn’t look at me. She looked out the window. I saw the beautiful, very expensive ring and bracelet on her right hand and wrist. The diamonds and gold glittered. She had matching earrings.
She turned and smiled.
“You walk and hold yourself just like I do. It’s the damn rod Papa had installed in us when we were born, that perfect military posture. Ironically, for me it’s been an asset. So, what are you, in tenth grade?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m sure you’re a good student.”
“Not lately, although I’m doing better than I was.”
She nodded and looked out again as the driver made a turn that would take us to the park.
“How did you find out where I was?”
“Papa found out,” I said.
“And he told you?” she asked with surprise.
“Not exactly. I overheard him telling Mama.”
“How far from a curse word is my name in your house?”
“It was about the same,” I said dryly, and she laughed.
“You’re more like me than our father would like,” she said.
It had a mixed effect on me. At first, I felt a chill. Papa’s fears were true, but then I suddenly thought it wasn’t so terrible to have her self-confidence. My mind spun with an avalanche of questions, but I wasn’t sure if I should ask any.
“That was clever of you to put the charm bracelet in the envelope. I probably wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.”
“Why didn’t you respond sooner?”
“I’m amazed I’ve responded now,” she muttered. She
was quiet. We entered Central Park, and the driver slowed. “I was at the cemetery during the burial,” she admitted.
“Where?”
“Way back, too far to be noticed. I even visited his grave.”
I was speechless for a moment.
“If he wasn’t dead, it probably would have killed him,” she added.
“It would have pleased Mama,” I said.
“Would it? I doubt she would have shown it. He’s gone, but his influence over her is probably as strong as it was.”
“That’s not true.”
“Please. There’s so much you don’t know. I suppose I shouldn’t hold her as responsible as I do. She was a European woman from a family where the women were always subservient to their men, and when you were married to a soldier like your father, you were trained and obedient.”
“Papa wasn’t a soldier.”
“Excusez-moi? He didn’t enlist or go to officers’ school, but he was in the Army from the day he was born. I remember my grandfather. You don’t. Emotions like love and compassion are signs of weakness. I never had any doubt that if your father was in his regiment, he wouldn’t hesitate to send him to the front lines, and if your father was killed in battle, he’d write a letter to your mother and himself with the same official stamp. That’s how your father grew up.”
“Why do you keep saying your father and your mother? They’re your parents, too.”
She just looked at me and smirked.
“Well, they are!”
“That thought had a quick death the moment I hit the street, M.”
M, I thought, and remembered. That was what she used to call me, not Emmie but just M. A flood of childhood memories started.
She looked away again, and for a while we rode in silence. The limousine emerged from the park. She pressed the intercom button.
“Take us to the address I gave you, Jeffery, s’il vous plaît.”
“Very good,” Jeffery said.
“How is our mother?”
“She hasn’t been well,” I said.
“In time, she’ll get better. He probably left orders.”
“No, I’m worried about her, even though she puts on a good act.”
She looked at me and smiled softly. She is so beautiful, I thought.
“You sound very mature. I’m not surprised. There wasn’t much time for childhood in Papa’s house. I have to admit that’s a good thing in today’s world.”
“Are you rich?” I asked, and she laughed.
“Let’s just say I’m comfortable.”
“I’ve been to your hotel before. I went there with a school friend to . . .”
“Spy?”
“To see you, learn about you.”
“What did you learn?”
“Nothing much, and I felt stupid doing it.”
“There’s not much for you to learn.”
The driver turned down our street. She leaned over to open her purse. I watched her pluck out the charm bracelet.
“You should keep it,” she said, handing it back to me.
“Are you going in to see Mama?” I asked when the limousine stopped in front of our house.
“No.”
“Why did you come to see me, then?”
“I wanted to see what you were like, how you were doing. I think you’ll survive,” she said.
“But Mama . . .”
“Mama let me go, M. I can’t forgive her for that.”
“She loved you, loves you. She takes out your picture often, and she cries,” I said.
“He let her keep a picture of me?”
“She kept it secret, but I think he always knew. If he hadn’t died, maybe . . .”
“Maybe I’d get an honorable discharge?”
“You went to his grave, you said.”
“Not to ask him for his forgiveness but to see if I could forgive him. I couldn’t,” she said.
The driver came around and opened my door.
“Just soldier on, M, and be the good little girl your father wanted you to be,” she said. I looked at the charm bracelet in my hand. “It’s better you keep it. It’s better I don’t have reminders.”
“No matter what you do, how far you go, you’ll always have reminders,” I told her. “It’s like trying to get rid of your shadow.”
I saw her eyes glisten, her lips quiver, and the muscles in her face tighten. “Yeah, well, I’ve got an appointment,” she said, nodding at the opened door.
I closed my fingers around the charm bracelet and stepped out. The driver closed the door. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see her anymore, but I had the feeling she was still looking at me. He got in and drove off. I stood there watching until the limousine disappeared around a turn, and then I looked up at our front door.
I put the charm bracelet in my purse.
It’s better if I don’t ever tell Mama about this, I thought.
It would break her heart.
It had nearly shattered mine.
13
Of course, when I entered the house, I was worried that Mama would take one look at my face and know that I was keeping a big secret from her. I heard someone else’s voice coming from the living room. We had company. That was good, I thought. It would be easier to hide what had just happened if Mama was distracted. I hurried in to see who was there. The voice was vaguely familiar.
Mama was sitting on the sofa, leaning against the arm of it as if the person next to her had bad breath. Beside her was my uncle Orman’s wife, my aunt Lucy. I hadn’t seen her for more than two years and had not seen her very often before that. Uncle Orman was five years older than Papa, and Aunt Lucy was only a year younger than Uncle Orman. She was one of those women who looked put together with superglue. I remembered her with the exact same hairdo, teased and sprayed so not a strand was loose. It looked more like a helmet than a hairdo, which probably pleased Uncle Orman. She was dressed in a gray tweed skirt suit with a white ruffled-collar blouse and wore what looked like shoes made for people with foot problems. They looked like claws. She still wore a little too much lipstick, a little too red for her complexion, and her cheeks were powdered a shade or two away from a clown’s. Her strong perfume permeated the room. She was the sort whose aroma remained in an elevator for at least five or six more trips. People who got in after she exited would look at each other and grimace, holding their breath.
“How big she’s grown, and how much like you she looks,” Aunt Lucy said, as if I were in a fishbowl and couldn’t hear her.
“Say hello to Aunt Lucy, honey,” Mama said, and sat up straighter.
“Hello, Aunt Lucy.”
“I knew Aunt Lucy was going to be close by and asked her to stop in,” Mama said.
“Oh?” I wanted to ask why she couldn’t have come to Papa’s funeral, but I bit my tongue.
I looked from Mama to Aunt Lucy and then back again as I sat across from them. There was something strange about the tone in Mama’s voice. She was never good at hiding the truth. I hesitate to say lie because I couldn’t imagine her being deceitful, but, like any mother, she would find ways to make unpleasant things sound more pleasant.
“That’s nice,” I said. “How is everyone in your family, Aunt Lucy?”
“They’re all doing well, thank you, Emmie. What a little lady,” she said to Mama. Mama smiled and nodded. “They grow up so quickly. Which means we grow old so quickly,” Aunt Lucy told me. “So make good use of your time. Orman is always telling me that youth is wasted on the young,” she told Mama, who nodded again. It was something Papa would say often, too.
I relaxed. Maybe there was nothing more to this than a nice visit. Ironically, it was a day for family, I thought, having just been with Roxy. Relatives were falling out of the trees.
“So why are you in New York?” I asked. “Seeing a show or . . .”
She looked at Mama for the answer, which started my nerves flickering again.
“Your vacation is coming up at the end of this we
ek,” Mama began.
“You want to go to France?” I said quickly. Maybe Aunt Lucy was going with us or something.
“Not yet,” Mama said. “Now, I don’t want you to get worried or anything, but I have to have a procedure done, and it means I’ll be in the hospital a while. I thought I could have it all done during your vacation, and your aunt Lucy is very happy to invite you to her and your uncle’s home for that period so you won’t have to be alone. I would worry about you if you were left alone, Emmie,” Mama added with conviction. She was leaning on me to agree quickly.
I glanced at Aunt Lucy. She had the sort of face Papa would call an interrogator’s dream face. Her eyes were like two peepholes through which anyone could see the truth or that she was lying.
“What is this procedure, Mama?” I asked, instead of agreeing to be with Aunt Lucy.
“It’s just a hysterectomy,” she said.
I looked at Aunt Lucy. She was watching me closely to see how I would react.
“What is that?”
“They remove the uterus. I’m certainly not going to have any more children,” Mama said, smiling. “It’s a very common procedure.”
“Why does the doctor want to do that?”
“Precaution,” she said. She hesitated and then added, “I have a small cyst. They’re confident that this will prevent any further problems.”
“I have two friends who have undergone the same surgery,” Aunt Lucy said. “They’re both doing fine. One of them has gone back to work. She works for Senator Batch, who’s on the Armed Services Committee.”
“Why are you waiting until my vacation?” I asked Mama, completely ignoring Aunt Lucy.
“It’s only a few more days, Emmie, and it just works out with the surgeon’s schedule. If you visit Aunt Lucy during this time—”
“I won’t leave you alone,” I said firmly. I looked at Aunt Lucy. “Thank you for the invitation, Aunt Lucy, but I’ll be fine.”
“You’re being selfish,” Aunt Lucy said sharply. “Your mother won’t get well quickly if she is lying there in the hospital worrying about you.”