Grand Avenue (21 page)

“I think you might have scratched me a little lower down.” An impish grin stretched the width of Jeremy’s pale cheeks.

Vicki laughed and pushed herself out of bed, pretending not to see the invitation in her husband’s eyes.
Did the man never get tired? He was sixty-five, for heaven’s sake. Wasn’t he supposed to be slowing down? She marched naked into the bathroom, stepped into the shower, disappeared under a torrent of hot water. She had too much on her mind to enjoy the luxury of a morning quickie. She had to be in Louisville by one o’clock, and she needed to do something before that, something she’d been putting off for weeks that she needed to deal with.

Vicki heard the bathroom door open, saw the shadow moving toward her, felt a whoosh of cold air as the shower door opened and her husband stepped inside.

“Thought you could use a little help.” Jeremy took the soap from her hand and turned her around. “You know, for those difficult-to-reach areas.”

His strong hands gently massaged the nape of her neck, before sliding down her spine to cup her bony backside. Don’t they ever grow up? Vicki wondered. It didn’t seem to matter whether they were sixteen or sixty—they were all the same. Well, maybe not quite the same, she thought, remembering the sixteen-year-old boy who’d been her first lover, feeling his lean, hard body pound against hers as her husband’s fingers reached between her legs. But hard bodies weren’t everything. Look at her own body, Vicki thought, deciding not to. It was changing every day, and not for the better, despite the personal trainer who came to the house twice a week. Kevin kept telling her she looked great, but that was part of his job. He was supposed to make her feel good about herself. And in truth, she did. Being forty wasn’t so terrible. She still turned plenty of
heads. Certainly her husband found her sexy and desirable, she knew, deciding not to fight the pleasurable tingling that was spreading across her body, to enjoy the impromptu interlude, even though it would throw her off schedule.

“Busy day?” Jeremy asked later at breakfast.

“Some things I have to get done.” Vicki was already on her feet, dropping the morning paper to the table, kissing her husband good-bye.

“Where are you going?” Kirsten asked, entering the kitchen, her brother hanging on to the rear pocket of her jeans.

“Work.” Vicki blew kisses at her children as she walked briskly to the front door.

“It’s Sunday,” Kirsten reminded her.

“I’ll be back later.”

“The play starts at eight.”

“I’ll be back in plenty of time. Don’t worry. Break a leg.”

Vicki was in her car and halfway to Cincinnati before she allowed herself time to think. She checked her watch. Only ten o’clock. She had plenty of time. Don’t worry, she assured herself. You’re doing the right thing.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Mrs. Latimer,” the nurse was saying. “He was asking about you just the other day.”

Vicki followed the portly black nurse down the long, peach-colored hall of the nursing home, holding her breath, trying not to inhale the heavy, stale air. Like everything else in the four-story, yellow-brick
building, the air carried the scent of decay and despair. No matter how brightly you painted the walls, how vigorously you scrubbed the floors, how often you disinfected the rooms, there was always this stench—the sad smell of the discarded, of those who were taking too long to die.

“He asked about me? What did he say?”

“He asked why his daughter hadn’t been around to visit him for so long.”

Vicki ignored the well-intentioned rebuke, deciding not to respond. What was the point? Besides, what could she say? The nurse was right. It had been months since her last visit, months since she’d last stared into her father’s blank eyes hoping for some sign of recognition, months since she’d stood beside his bed hoping to hear him utter her name. “How’s he doing?”

“Seems a bit better today. He ate all his breakfast. Went for a little walk down the hall.”

“Did he really ask about me?” Vicki stopped in front of the door to her father’s room.

“Well, not in so many words,” the nurse admitted. “But he looked at me in that way—you know, that cute little look he gives sometimes—and I knew he was thinking about you.”

“Thank you,” Vicki said, thinking that
cute
was not a word she would have used to describe her father.

“I’ll be right down the hall if you need me.”

Vicki looked down at the well-scrubbed floor, exhaled a deep breath of air, then pushed open the door to her father’s room.

The man in the single bed in the middle of the small room was the color of pale yellow chalk. “You almost
match the walls, Daddy,” Vicki said, inching toward the bed, staring at the frail figure of the man who was only five years older than her husband.

He stared at her through watery hazel eyes a shade lighter than her own and smiled the same tight grin Vicki remembered from her childhood, but she could tell instantly he had no clue who she was. It had been at least a year since he’d had any memory of her at all.

“So, how are they treating you, Daddy?”

“Good,” came the immediate response. “Very good.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around to see you in a while.”

“You’ve been busy,” he said, as if he understood.

“Yes, I have. Do you remember what I do, Daddy?”

“You’ve been very busy,” her father said again, staring at the painting of a snowy landscape that hung on the wall across from his bed.

“I’m a lawyer, Daddy. Just like you. With Peterson, Manning, Carlysle, over on Mercer Street. You remember them, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he said, his head nodding up and down atop his skinny neck, his Adam’s apple jutting out at such a pronounced angle it looked as if a child’s building block were wedged in his windpipe.

Vicki leaned forward, smoothed down the few white hairs jutting from the top of her father’s balding head, adjusted the collar of his blue flannel pajamas. “I was made a full partner last year. I’m not sure if I told you that.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Well, I don’t have to tell you how crazy things get
at a major law firm. But it’s been good. I won a huge judgment in the McCarthy case. You may have read about it in the papers. It made the front page.” She stopped. What was she babbling on about? Her father wouldn’t have a clue what she was referring to. She doubted he’d glanced at the front page of a newspaper in years.

“That’s very good,” her father said. “Good for you.”

Yes, good for me, Vicki thought, pulling up the chair that was resting against one wall and plopping down into it, savoring the irony. “Good for you”—probably the nicest thing her father had ever said to her, and he had no idea what he was saying. She almost laughed, looking past her father at the tree brushing against the window on the far wall, its bright October leaves slapping against the leaded panes. “It’s pretty warm for this time of year,” she said.

“Yes,” her father agreed.

“You should get them to take you outside for a walk.”

“Outside for a walk. Yes, it’s pretty warm for this time of year.”

Vicki pulled the red cardigan she was wearing more tightly around her. Despite the unseasonably warm temperatures and the overheated room, she was feeling cold. “So, I should fill you in on everything that’s been going on.” Her voice resonated fake cheer.

Her father smiled his tight little grin, the same grin he’d used when mocking her for losing the fifth-grade spelling bee competition, for placing second on the debating team in high school, for getting only an
eighty-seven on her final English exam at college. Nothing she did was ever good enough. Was it, Daddy? Vicki thought now, wishing she could wipe that awful grin off his face. Nothing anybody ever did was good enough.

Is that why her mother left?

“Your grandchildren are doing very well,” Vicki said loudly, trying to block out the rumble of unpleasant thoughts. “Kirsten is growing like a weed. She’s thirteen now, and almost a full head taller than I am. Wait, I have a picture.” She fished inside her large black Bottega bag for her wallet, extricated a slightly crumpled snapshot of Kirsten, stretched it toward her father. “Well, actually, this one’s a few years old. Damn, I thought I had a more recent one.” She was pretty sure Kirsten had given her the latest school picture for her wallet. What had she done with it? “Anyway, you can see how pretty she is. Her face has thinned out quite a bit since this was taken, and her hair’s much longer. She’s letting it grow to her waist. And she’s doing very well in school. First in her class last year. You’d be very proud.”

Would he? Vicki doubted it.
Eighty-seven?
she could hear him sneer.
Hardly a figure to be proud of

“She doesn’t have a boyfriend or anything yet. Well, she’s still so young.” Vicki sank back into her chair, fought back the surprise threat of tears. She’d been barely fourteen when she’d lost her virginity. Was it possible Kirsten was similarly active? That she was having sex?

No way, Vicki decided, although how would she know? She wouldn’t have known that Kirsten had
started menstruating if the housekeeper hadn’t complained of Kotex plugging up the toilet. Kirsten was relatively guarded about such matters, and she rarely confided in her mother, preferring to keep personal matters private, which was fine with Vicki. If she wants to know about anything, she knows where to reach me, Vicki reasoned. At least she knows where her mother is, which is more than I could ever say about
my
mother.

“She got the lead in the school play,” Vicki said out loud, tiring of her inner monologue. “Nancy in
Oliver!
You remember the musical
Oliver!
? ‘Oliver, Oliver,’ ” she sang softly, as her father bobbed his head to the gentle beat. “Well, luckily, she has a better voice than I do, although I have to tell you, the thought of a thirteen-year-old girl singing ‘As Long As He Needs Me’ is kind of horrifying. Anyway, I’m going to see her tonight. It’s the last performance. I couldn’t make it for opening night. It was on Wednesday and I had to work late, so …” Vicki stopped when she saw her father’s eyes drift to a close. “Daddy? Daddy, are you asleep?”

“You’re very busy,” he said, almost as if he’d been listening.

“Anyway,” Vicki persisted, “we’re all going. Jeremy and Josh, who isn’t much of a student yet, but that could change, you never know, stranger things have happened. And my friends Susan and her husband, and Barbara, plus their kids, they’re all going to be there. Not Chris,” Vicki said, hearing her voice drop. “Nobody’s seen or heard from Chris since they left Grand Avenue. It’s like she disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Like someone else we know, Vicki thought.

“I’m going to see her,” she said suddenly.

“What? Speak up,” her father demanded, as the tears that had been lurking behind Vicki’s eyes gathered force, threatened to break free.
Did you hear me? I said speak up. You think I’m going to let you go to the dance with marks like these?

Vicki waited until the threat subsided before she spoke. “I said I’m going to see her.”

“Oh,” her father said, not asking for further elaboration. Not interested in explanations.

“Mother,” Vicki said, the word feeling heavy on her tongue.

“You’re very busy.”

“In Louisville.” Vicki was speaking for her own edification now. “At least I think it’s her. I won’t be sure until I actually see her, talk to her. I’ve had detectives looking for her for some time now. Off and on. They thought they found her a few years back living off the coast of Spain. But it wasn’t her. I mean, she was American and she fit the general description and everything, but once I saw the pictures, I knew it wasn’t her. This woman in Spain was much too tall to be her. But this woman living in Louisville sounds like she could be the one. She’s the right height and age, and she calls herself Rita Piper, which, of course, was Mother’s maiden name. She’s not married. Apparently she lives alone. So, it sounds like it could be her. And the pictures the investigator sent me look like she might look now. Of course, it’s hard for me to remember because I was so young when she left, but—” Vicki’s voice came to an abrupt halt. “You don’t really care, do you?” she
asked her father bitterly. “You don’t care at all. That’s why she left, isn’t it?”

Except why did she have to leave me too? Vicki asked silently. Why couldn’t she have taken me with her?

“Beats the shit out of me why I’m doing this,” Vicki said, throwing her hands into the air, feeling them slap her thighs when they landed. “I mean, it’s not exactly like she’s been knocking herself out trying to keep in touch. It’s not like she doesn’t know where to find me.”

And she hasn’t tried. Not once. In all these years.

“So, I’m not sure what the point of this little exercise is, but, hey, it’s a nice fall afternoon, and I feel like a drive.”

“It’s a nice afternoon,” her father agreed.

Vicki checked her watch. “Anyway, it’s getting late. I really should get going. I have to be back in time for Kirsten’s final performance. Can’t miss that. I told you she got the lead in
Oliver!
, didn’t I?” Vicki jumped to her feet. Now she was the one who couldn’t remember things. She had to get out of here before the nurses mistook her for one of the residents. She leaned forward, her lips hovering around her father’s dry forehead. She kissed at the air, patted his shoulder, felt him shake off her touch. Even now, she thought. “I’ll drop by again soon. Let you know how I make out.”

“Yes,” her father said, as if answering a question.

Vicki stood in the doorway for several seconds, watching her father watching the wall, feeling years of indifference pushing her into the hall. “Good-bye, Daddy,” she said, and closed the door behind her.

* * *

It took a little over an hour to reach the small, white clapboard house in Louisville. Vicki drove by the house three times, circling the block repeatedly, trying to decide how best to approach the woman who could be her mother. Probably she should have phoned ahead of time, given her time to prepare for their meeting. Given her time to pack up her bags and flee, Vicki thought, which was why she’d decided not to call. Her mother was very good at packing her things and leaving town. She wasn’t going to give her another opportunity.