Her Daughter's Dream (46 page)

57

“Can we talk about what happened in Berkeley, Carolyn? Please.”

Carolyn braced her back against the other chair. Her mother hadn’t blamed her for what happened. She’d blamed Dock. Maybe it was time to get everything out in the open. Haight-Ashbury and all the rest.

“I wanted to end the war, Mom. I wanted to save Charlie. I didn’t care about school. It seemed pointless to attend classes when my brother was risking his life every minute of the day. So I quit and went on protest marches. When I wasn’t doing that, I drank to forget. All I could think about was trying to get Charlie out of Vietnam. And I failed. When Charlie died, I just lost it.”

“You were gone before you knew about Charlie.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes. You were. We called the day after the officers came to the house, and your phone was disconnected. We drove to Berkeley. Your neighbors said they hadn’t seen either of you in a while. The landlord was there. He said the place was trashed.”

“Oma called the day the soldiers came to the house. I knew what that meant. I remember screaming and Chel giving me something. The next thing I remember is Chel driving me across the Bay Bridge, Janis Joplin screaming on the radio, Chel screaming along with her.” She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see Mom’s face when she said the rest. “I woke up in a strange house, in a strange bed, with a guy I’d never seen before. It got worse after that.”

Carolyn pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I used to dream about Charlie all the time.” She gulped down tears. “I’d see him in a rice paddy. I’d see him burning in napalm. I’d see him—” She stopped, appalled, realizing what her words must be doing to her mother. She took her hands away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t stop, honey.” Her mother spoke in a soft, choked voice. “Tell me the rest.”

“I stayed stoned and drunk, trying to deal with his death.”

“You looked so frail when you came home.”

Carolyn remembered all too well. She’d been starving slowly, living on garbage. And then a young vet gave her a chocolate bar and kept her warm. A young woman gave her hope and a ticket home. “I lived in Golden Gate Park for a while. I don’t remember how long. I had to get out of that house and away from Ash.”

“What house? And who is Ash?”

“We lived in a big house on Clement Street. He moved in while Chel and I were in New York, celebrating rock and roll at Woodstock.” She spoke wryly, then went on. “She was messed up on drugs. I didn’t know if she’d come out of it. Her mind cleared in Wyoming. When we got back, we found this beautiful stranger sitting in the living room. He used to wear white robes like Jesus and spoke in poetry. A fake guru, speaking bull, seducing everyone. Everyone was stoned all the time and sleeping with whoever. Chel was the one with the money. Ash took her over the minute she walked in the door, or he thought he did. Chel always knew what was what. She knew Ash for what he was long before I did. When she got tired of him, he turned to me. All I saw was the beautiful mask, not the devil behind it. I thought I loved him. Lee Dockery was a lot kinder.” She saw the anguish in her mother’s face. “I’m sorry, Mom. Maybe you don’t want to hear about this.”

“I need to know what happened to my daughter. Don’t you think it’s time?”

“I guess.” Carolyn rubbed her face.

“I always wondered, but I was afraid to ask. Did Chel live in the park with you?”

“No. She overdosed on heroin. A few weeks before, we went out for a long walk in the park. She gave me her father’s telephone number and said if anything happened to her, I was to call him. It scared me. I watched over her for days. The one day I didn’t . . .” Her voice broke.

“I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I found her sprawled across her bed. Ash was furious. He told me to lie if the paramedics asked for her name.”

“Why?”

“Why do you suppose? The money would keep being deposited as long as her father thought she was alive. When the ambulance came, I waited outside. Before they took her body away, I gave them her full name. I called her father. And then I just walked away. I didn’t look back. I didn’t care where I went or what happened to me after that.”

Carolyn raked her fingers into her hair and held her head. “I begged, Mom. I slept on benches and under bushes. I ate out of trash bins and slept in a few. I wanted to die, but I didn’t have the courage to drown myself in the ocean.” She gave a mocking laugh. “It was cold.” Sighing, she leaned back against the front of the swivel rocker. “One night I was sitting on the beach and thinking about how nice it would be to have it all over. And then I heard a guitar playing. I saw a young man wearing an Army jacket. I thought it was Charlie, at first.” Her eyes swam with tears. “Of course, it couldn’t be, but I followed him anyway. He’d made a camp in the park. He had a fire and an old sleeping bag. I was so hungry. He gave me a chocolate bar. He was a veteran. He hadn’t just bought the jacket from a surplus store; he’d served in Vietnam. I told him about Charlie. He told me about friends he’d lost in the war.”

She drew her knees up against her chest again, hugging them close. “He shared his sleeping bag. He kept me warm. I got up and wandered off. When I couldn’t find my way back, I slept on the grass. I woke up at dawn.” Tears came and spilled down her cheeks. “It was May, and little white flowers grew in the grass like stars had dropped from heaven. I felt someone touch me. He sat right there on the grass with me.”

“The young veteran?”

“No.” She shook her head, chewing her lip a moment before she had the courage to say it aloud. She never had before. “I know you won’t believe me. You’ll think I was drunk or stoned. But I hadn’t had anything since leaving Ash.” She couldn’t see Mom through her tears.

“I’ll believe anything you tell me, Carolyn.”

Carolyn drew a shuddering breath and prayed she would. “I saw Jesus.” She let the memory fill her. “He said it was time to go home. I thought He meant I was going to die. I wasn’t afraid. When I sat up, He was gone.” She had sat for hours, praying He would come back and take her with Him. “A young woman came and set up a picnic for her two children. She called her little boy Charlie.” Her voice wavered.

Her mother put a hand over her mouth.

Carolyn kept going. “It was like watching me and Charlie play together. She invited me to sit with her; she offered me a sandwich. I was so hungry. We talked. I told her about Charlie; she told me about her husband. He was MIA in Vietnam. She called her kids and loaded all of us in a van and took me to the bus station. She bought my ticket home. Her name was Mary.”

Carolyn felt the weight lifting as she talked. “She gave me her telephone number and said if you didn’t want me, she’d come and get me. I lost the slip of paper on the way home. I’ve thanked God a thousand times for her over the years, Mom. When the planes landed at Travis Air Force Base in 1973, and all those POWs came off, I cried and prayed Mary’s husband stood among them. But I’ll never know for sure if he did.”

Mom wiped tears from her cheeks, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t seem shocked or disgusted. Carolyn wondered if she could keep going and decided it was worth the risk. “You asked me why I didn’t believe you loved me.When I came home, you and Dad were ashamed of me. I could see it in your faces. When you found out I was pregnant, that was the last straw.”

“No, Carolyn. It was a shock, that’s all.”

“You and Dad asked Rev. Elias to talk to me. He told me not to come back to church.”

“What?” Mom spoke weakly, eyes wide.

“He didn’t believe I was truly repentant. He said enough to convince me I wasn’t good enough to set foot inside any church. When I came home, Dad made a point of asking me if I’d taken everything Rev. Elias said to heart. I did. Then you and Dad told me you were sending me to Los Angeles to live with Boots. You couldn’t wait to be rid of me.”

“No.
No!
” Mom looked furious, tears streaming down her white cheeks. “We asked Rev. Elias to talk to you because we thought he’d give you wise counsel. For heaven’s sake, if we’d known what he said to you, we would’ve left the church! Why didn’t Oma tell me about this?”

“Oma didn’t know, Mom. I never told anyone.”

“Then she must have guessed, because she left the church right after you did.”

“I assumed you and Dad felt the same way he did.”

“Of course not! If your father had known, he would’ve raised holy hell. We sent you away to protect you, not get rid of you.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. “I sent you to Boots. She was my best friend! I knew she’d love you and take good care of you.” Her mouth wobbled, tears still streaming. “I wouldn’t have entrusted you to anyone else.”

Carolyn wanted to believe her, but evidence stood in the way. “The day I walked into the house, I saw a wall of pictures, all of Charlie.”

“We wanted to honor his memory.”

“I looked around the house when you and Dad went to work. There wasn’t a single picture of me anywhere. Not one.”

Her mother clenched the crumpled, damp handkerchief in her lap and looked straight into her eyes. “I put them away a few months after you disappeared. We loved you, Carolyn. We agonized over you. The truth is we grieved more over you than Charlie. We knew what happened to him. He was killed in the line of duty. Don’t forget your father was a police officer. He worked in forensics. He dealt with homicides. He had nightmares when he came home from the war. He had worse ones when you disappeared. I put your pictures away because he died a little more inside every time he looked at one. I couldn’t bear to lose everyone I loved.”

Carolyn’s heart hurt. She pressed her hands against her chest, wanting to make it go away. She had spent so many years hiding the pain, not asking why things had been the way they were, afraid the answers might hurt even more.

Mom’s eyes warmed, and she gestured toward her bedroom. “I cherish your pictures. Your wedding portrait is on my dresser, your senior picture on my wall, where I can see both of them every night before I go to sleep. All the rest are in an album over there in the cabinet.” Her mouth trembled. “I love you. How could I not? You’re my own flesh and blood.”

Carolyn searched her mother’s face and saw raw pain. “How would I know? I haven’t stepped foot in your bedroom since I was three years old.” She never opened any cabinets except those in the kitchen. She gave a broken laugh. “Oh, Mom . . . we’ve both been so good at hiding what we feel.”

“I just told you I love you, Carolyn. Do you believe me?”

Carolyn looked into her eyes, eyes the same color as Oma’s. “Yes.” She felt all the tension drain from her body. She smiled. “And in case you don’t know it, I love you, too.”

* * *

Dawn was thankful Mom and Granny weren’t arguing anymore. She shifted her body, trying to get more comfortable. She could feel the pressure of tiny arms and legs stretching inside her. Taking two pillows and the comforter from the bed, she sat near the door. She covered herself with the comforter, scooted down, and tucked the pillows under her knees. The solid carpeted floor felt better than the soft bed.

Let the words keep flowing, Lord.
Dawn knew others were praying for them, too. Georgia and the women of CCC, Pastor Daniel, Mitch, all the people who loved Mom and Granny. Her eyes grew heavy, but she forced herself to stay awake. It gave her joy and hope to hear them talking openly with one another. She probably shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but she had been praying for this for so long that she felt she had to hear it to believe it.

Her mom was talking again. “I used to be afraid to love anyone. Charlie died. Then Chel. Oma. Dad. I don’t even want to think about losing Mitch.”

“Your dad and I rooted for him.”

“Mitch told me he was going to marry me that first time he came over for dinner.”

“And not for your cooking, I’ll bet,” Granny teased.

Dawn’s mother laughed. “Thanks a lot.”

“We knew he had a crush on you when he was a boy. It was hard to miss when he came over all the time.”

“To see Charlie.”

“And you. It is frightening to lose someone you love. I loved your dad every bit as much as you love Mitch . . . and the way Mama must have loved Papa. We all die sometime. Someday you’ll lose me, too, you know.”

“Yes, but I’d rather not think about that.”

“At least we’ll be speaking to one another.”

Dawn put her hands over her face and tried not to cry. Some things might never be worked out. Granny might never believe Oma had loved her.

Granny spoke. “I’m sorry about Rev. Elias, Carolyn. God forgive him. And I’m sorry you didn’t understand why we sent you to Boots.”

“It was the best thing you could have done for me. She recognized a dry drunk when she saw one and took me to my first AA meeting. She had a band of friends who were full of hope and experience and didn’t mind sharing. They all thought I should give up my baby. Boots wanted me to keep May Flower Dawn and stay with her.”

“You’ll never know how happy Dad and I were when you decided to come home.”

“I didn’t know I could until you sent that car seat. And then Dad laid down all the rules, and you quit your job so you could take care of May Flower Dawn. . . .”

“We wanted to help you get back on your feet.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want you staying with Boots.”

Dawn heard the tension building in Granny’s voice, as though quick words could ward off something she didn’t want to hear. But Mom wasn’t going to let her get away with it this time. She spoke gently. “I loved Boots, but I didn’t want to depend on her. I’d lived off Chel for too long.”

“I wanted to help, Carolyn.”

“I know.”

“You wouldn’t have made it on your own.” Granny sounded defensive.

“Georgia did.”

“Because she didn’t have any choice. Her parents kicked her out. We wanted to help.”

“Yes. You helped yourself to May Flower Dawn.”

Dawn sat up and held her breath. She’d known for years she was the cause of much of their contention. She’d grown up in the middle. Granny had stepped in when needed, then held on. For a long time, Dawn had helped Granny win the tug-of-war. It wasn’t until she had sex downstairs with Jason that she understood how guilt and shame could imprison a person, keep her silent, keep her distant. Like Mom.