Above The Thunder (16 page)

Anna nodded. “I’ll look for some.”

His eyes sparkled. “I would really appreciate that. Was Poppy shy as a child? What did she really love? I mean, activities, toys.” He leaned toward Anna, his eyes wide.

“Well, I wouldn’t have called her shy so much as wary. She was quiet, watchful. Sensitive.” Anna laughed, embarrassed by these generic descriptions. She could have been talking about anybody’s child. Marvin was still looking at her, hanging on her every word. “Poppy was strong-willed. And
she had definite ideas about things. She used to insist that we take her to Sunday school, though Hugh and I never could figure out where she got that notion. We were not church-goers ourselves.”

“Was she imaginative?” Marvin asked.

“Sure, I guess. Aren’t all children?”

“Yeah, well, I’m just thinking of Flynn. Flynn is off the charts. Her imagination is positively frightening.” He paused. “She draws things in too deep. Last year when she took ballet, her teacher was trying to get them to use the entire floor when they danced. She told them to be space hogs. Flynnie was convinced there were pigs in the sky and refused to go outside after dark because she was afraid they’d fall on her head.”

Anna chuckled. A silence fell between them. Anna glanced around, looked at the overdressed women at the table next to theirs—mid-management types, women-taking-control-of-their-own-social needs-post-divorce type thing—and felt a sudden fearful anxiety mixed with distaste. Their exaggerated hilarity, forced gaiety, was apparent even from here. It was bad enough pretending to be cheerful, but being dressed up like that somehow made it even worse. After Hugh died, she met a group of women once a month for dinner or drinks. Anna liked a few of them a great deal, but she grew tired of the formality. The pleasure of female company was in part the freedom from artifice, from spangles and beads and lipstick. Sitting around with coffee or lemonade watching a video, drinking wine and listening to music.

She looked back to Marvin, who was watching her in return. Anna’s heart started to pound, despite the alcohol she’d thought would be soporific. He began to fidget. Moved the salt shaker and sugar bowl and breadbasket as though they were materials for a sculpture.

The waiter came to take their dinner order. “And a bottle of the house red,” Anna added.

“I should call and check on Flynnie,” Marvin said, pushing back his chair.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Anna said, and patted his arm. “Greta has my cell number if anything comes up.”

Marvin nodded. “Is this the smoking section?”

“I don’t know,” Anna said, and looked around. One of the women at the next table was smoking. “It must be.”

Marvin reached into his pocket and took out a package of Drum tobacco. He rolled a cigarette, then one for Anna when she couldn’t do it herself.

“So,” she said. “I have to tell you how surprised I was to hear from you and Poppy after all these years.” She took a deep drag of the cigarette, let the smoke drift in her head. The tight bands in her chest began loosening a little. “I’d made up my mind years ago that my daughter and her family were gone forever.”

“Well,” Marvin said. “We thought it was time you got to know Flynn. She’s never known a grandparent. Do you think you’ll enjoy spending time with her? I mean, just the two of you?”

Anna said she would. “Sure. Maybe I’ll take her to the zoo. Does she like zoos?”

“No. Probably not. That would upset her, I suspect. Flynn has only seen animals wild, in their natural habitat. She would enjoy a boxing match, though. If you told her you were taking her to the fights she’d melt like cheap chocolate in your hands.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do,” Anna said, and turned to the waiter who brought the wine for her to taste. She nodded. “It’s fine.”

“What I have in mind is more than, uh, day trips and outings.”

Anna looked up. “Pardon?”

“I said it’s more than taking Flynn to boxing matches. It’s more than that.”

“What is? All right, why don’t we stop tap-dancing here? What is it that brought you five thousand miles across the country in a van that shouldn’t have been driven farther than the grocery store?”

Marvin swirled the wine in his glass, took a long sip. “I’m at my wit’s end, Anna. Poppy has been disappearing like this for years. I can handle it, I’ve always handled it, but I can see now that it’s having a profound effect on Flynn. I’m worried that she thinks it’s her fault. I guess I’m asking for your help.” He searched Anna’s face, smoothed his hair back.

“What kind of help? What can I do?” Her head was swimming, her concentration filmy.

“This was all Poppy’s idea. It was Poppy’s idea that we come to visit you,” Marvin said.

Anna shrugged. “Fine.”

“And when she disappeared in Pennsylvania, that’s when I formulated
a plan. Of course, I thought about turning around and going home. But I’m thinking of my daughter, of what Flynnie needs. She needs a mother. She needs
her
mother, but that’s not going to happen with Poppy. So, naturally I thought of you. Of you being the stable maternal influence in her life. Of the possibility of me and Flynnie settling here permanently.” Marvin emptied his wineglass, twirled it by the stem. He unfastened his hair so it was a cool, dark waterfall around his shoulders, ran his fingers through its silky length. Anna watched the women at the next table noticing him. In one smooth motion, he had it back in its ponytail again.

“I’ve never been a stable maternal influence, Marvin. I’m no good at nurturing little creatures.”

The waiter brought the food, refilled their water glasses. Anna leaned back in her chair.

Marvin nodded. “I know. I mean, I’ve heard Poppy’s side of things.” He paused. “But I thought maybe once you got to know Flynn…well. I had these great fantasies of the two of us moving to Boston. I know it’s unrealistic to expect that we can all live under one roof.”

“Yeah,” Anna said.

“Poppy has been extraordinarily unstable for about three years. We’ve moved from place to place, but nothing makes her happy. She is the great love of my life. But I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“You’re divorcing,” Anna said.

He shook his head. “No. I will never divorce her. I will take her back anytime she comes back. I mean, I’ve been taking her back almost from the time I took her away.” He smiled a little. “I gave her choices. I gave her ultimatums: me or the drugs. Me and the child or the drugs. In the end, Flynn and I always lost. She’d get clean for a while, then backslide. Even our daughter wasn’t enough. And then I realized nothing would ever be enough.”

Anna saw Poppy in some seamy back alley with crusted hypodermic needles, the stench of sick bodies and sweaty need, of unwashed flesh and clothing. The bright sick yellow of heroin suns rising behind her eyes. “I don’t really understand,” she said. She pushed her food away, untouched. “I don’t understand how you can just disown your child. How Poppy can simply turn her back on her own daughter. What kind of drug can do that? What kind of substance takes precedence over your own child?” Anna
glared at the table of women; they were getting louder and shriller. One of them in particular was driving Anna crazy, the heavyset brassy blonde whose laugh was like a donkey’s braying. She was the most unattractive of the group. Her tight silk dress printed with tropical birds and flowers rippled over layers of fat. The woman was looking at Marvin too intensely and too often. Anna stared her down.

“I’m trying, you see, to think only of Flynn. Her mother will never kick the habit. Poppy’s been using since she was fifteen years old. And now that Flynn is getting older, what she needs most is stability. My parents are dead. You and I are her only living relatives. You are the closest she can get to a true mother.”

Anna’s attention snapped back. “She’s been using since she was fifteen?” Anna recalled the long summer drives to cheerleading camp, Poppy with her mouth full of braces and her sulky adolescent silences. She was in cheerleading camp at fifteen. Marvin must be mistaken. But what did it matter now? “No. I will have none of this, Marvin. But what about you? What prevents you from successfully raising her alone? Many men do.”

“I am successfully raising her. Flynn is everything to me. But she needs more than just me. I realized this on the drive out here. On that long-ass hellish ride from Alaska, when I had a feeling Poppy was going to do what she did. Poppy’s idea was that we give you temporary custody. That you could be Flynn’s legal guardian until Poppy and I worked out what we needed to work out. Our marriage. Her drug habit. But it’s all an illusion. Things aren’t going to work out with Poppy, and Flynn is my daughter. It’s ludicrous to think I could leave my daughter for any length of time. And a child like Flynn….” He looked away, picked up his tobacco and rolled another cigarette.

Anna caught the waiter’s eye. She handed him a ten-dollar bill when he walked over. “Please bring me some cigarettes. Anything nonmenthol. Keep the change.”

“Certainly,” he said. “And may I ask if there’s a problem with the food?”

Neither she nor Marvin had touched their dinners. “No. No problem. We’re just slow.”

“Look, I’m an artist, which is more stable than being a drug addict, but not by much. I’ve traveled a lot, I’ve switched jobs. Flynn has no sense of
stability or constancy. A child like Flynn needs a CPA for a father and a kindergarten teacher for a mother.”

“You keep using that phrase. ‘A child like Flynn.’ What does that mean? You make her sound like an alien.”

Marvin paused. “She’s imaginative.”

“Well,” Anna said, “that’s hardly the worst problem she could have. It’s not as if having an imagination is a lethal condition.”

“I’m not sure,” he said quietly. “Everybody says, ‘sure, my child is imaginative.’ But they have no idea. Imaginative to them means their kids make up conversation for their dolls. Or pretend they’re puppies. Flynn thinks she talks to dead people. She believes in reincarnation. She sees things that aren’t there. Hears things that nobody else can and is convinced they’re true.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem so out of bounds.”

“Trust me, Anna. She can be frightening. And being around me…around the way I work and the creativity I need to work…this can’t be good for her. I have been awake for three straight days thinking about this. About what’s best for my daughter. And I’m leaving the two of us at your mercy. I don’t want to move to Boston, but I will. If it means that you’ll be in our lives, I’ll do anything.”

“Of course I don’t have a problem with you living in Boston. And I certainly don’t have any problem with getting to know my granddaughter. But I guess I don’t fully know what you have in mind. I can’t be her mother.”

“I am asking for your help,” he said.

“Do you need money?”

“No,” he said sharply. “I need your presence.”

“You need me to love the girl like a mother would. I can’t do that. I’ll be her grandparent, but I don’t want to raise her. I can’t. I don’t want her to live with me. You and she are welcome to visit, but if you move here, you need to find your own place.” He looked surprised, Anna thought, as if he’d expected she would be thrilled at having Flynn live with her.

“You can think about things. We can see how comfortable you and Flynn are together. How much involvement you want with her, ultimately.”

She didn’t need to think about it. She didn’t want them here. Why should she? After so many years, what she thought she had lain to rest was coming back like an awful reprise. She’d gotten through motherhood, cobbled
together a way to deal with Poppy as bes as she could, and closed off that part of her life when Poppy disappeared. And now, this nut bar, Marvin, who both took away her daughter then failed to deliver her as promised, wanted her to reopen everything, take on that heartbreak all over again.

“Did you expect that I would welcome you all with open arms?”

He sighed, poured the last of the wine between their two glasses. “I imagined the years might have softened you a little bit. I hoped for maybe just a bit of forgiveness toward Poppy and me.”

She shook her head. “No. No forgiveness. I’m not capable of that charitable quality.”

He shrugged. “Fair enough. At least I know where I stand. But don’t take it out on my girl. Flynn had nothing to do with the choices her mother and I made.”

“That,” Anna said, and reached for the check, “I of course know.” She took out her wallet, put some bills on the little tray. Neither one of them had eaten. “And incidentally, even if I did agree to become Flynn’s temporary guardian, what makes you think I’d be a more stable adult for her than, say, you? I was a terrible mother.”

“Yes,” Marvin said. “I know.”

Flynn had been listening to the radio all day, the ’70s weekend of underground stars, first in her grandmother’s house, then with Greta in her kitchen. Greta fed Flynn an early dinner of couscous—which Flynn knew to be Italian for excuse me, please—with chopped-up vegetables and currants—as in events—and some black dots that Greta said were capons. Or did she say they were capers? Flynn couldn’t remember now, but she thought there might be a secret message in this strange food: couscous; currants; capon; capers. She translated it to possibly mean, Excuse me, I know no current events, and must put my cape on to do my capers. There could be an Italian superman around here somewhere.

“I’ll eat with you,” Greta said. “I’m starving these days.”

“Are you, dear?” Flynn said, and smiled.

Greta smiled back. “Tell me what it’s like living in Alaska.”

Flynn swirled her couscous in the bowl, looked up at this woman who made her long to start her life over again. Start over as a tiny baby with this
woman as her mother. On the drive out here, her father said that she would be getting a new mother. Or, someone who could act more like a mother to her. She didn’t quite understand the difference. Maybe this was the woman he’d picked out for her. Someone who would treat her as an adopted daughter.

“Do you believe in hell?” Flynn asked.

“Pardon?” Greta said, and Flynn smelled her fear. Greta was probably afraid to die; in her last lifetime, Greta was a Cuban drug dealer. Somebody shot her—though in that lifetime she was a man—and dumped her body in the ocean. When people died like that, it took hundreds of years before violence was erased from the spirit.