Kathryn Magendie (17 page)

I looked for my father, and found him standing across the room with a drink in his hand. The drink was full, the ice melted. He looked lost. I went to him, and touched his hands wrapped around the glass, and they were so cold, or maybe mine were, or both. He looked down at me and tried to smile. His two brothers and two sisters circled around him to make him feel safe and strong again, and to make themselves feel that way, too. One was inside the circle, and then they moved out and another in, until all five of them had each been inside the circle to be hugged and petted and held up.

My aunts and uncles touched my head and said how pretty I was. I figured they needed to lie since it was a Relative Rule, but I let them. They had all loved Grandmother Rosetta. Mother walked around checking people’s drinks and food, with her black dress on and her stockings without runs and her high-heeled shoes clicking smartly on the floor. She nodded her head when people asked her questions, and told them all about Grandmother Rosetta’s cancer. I passed by once to hear her say to a bleached out blonde in a tight navy blue dress, “It was her uterus, you know. She didn’t find out until it was too far gone.”

I decided I liked the woman, as she stood in her short dress, her red lipstick, her too-blonde hair. She took a sip of her drink with a lemon slice floating in it, looked at Mother and said, “Women get screwed all around. The unfairness of the gods. I mean, taking our breasts and wombs and tearing them apart, the very thing that makes us women. And don’t get me started on how men screw us in every sense of the word. Yup, women get mightily
screwed
.”

Mother stared at the woman and quickly walked away, but I stood by her and took in her spicy perfume smell. I wanted her to tell me more about women. To tell me how it would be when I grew up. What I should watch out for and what I should dream and be. How I could make sure that the gods were fair.

She looked down at me and said, “Hey, you look like Rosetta would look when she was a girl, all dark and pretty. She was a good friend to me.” Then she handed me her drink with its red lip print on the rim. “Drink this up. It’ll help you.” She winked. “And don’t tell on me. I mean, sometimes we all need a little help.” She patted her purse. “I got a flask here. I’ll just make me another one. I’m never around death without my flask.”

I drank it down. It made me want to cough and spit, but I finished every last drop.

She took the empty glass and nodded at me. “I respect that. Yes ma’am. I respect that a lot.” Then she walked off on her heels, her hips swaying. I wanted to follow her and see what she’d do next, but I didn’t feel like moving. She disappeared behind a group of women, who all turned and watched her, and then whispered to each other with sour faces. As I stood rooted to the floor, I began to feel warm and glowing. The potion she gave me was working. I was light and heavy all at the same time. I looked for the blonde woman after that, to ask for more. From the window, I watched her drive off in a flashy red car, her bleached hair blowing in the wind. I went to lie on the couch, the sun warming me. From there, I saw Nonna’s roses blooming, a fat bee climbing, a butterfly, a housefly batting the glass,
tap tap tap tap tap . . . tap tap
.

I awoke to Mother’s voice. I said, “What? What?” Then realized she wasn’t talking to me. I curled in on myself and stayed quiet, as if still asleep, so I could listen and watch by peeking from between my arms.

The house was quiet, except for Mother and my aunts and uncles standing in a group talking. Everyone else was gone.

Mother said, “Jack, I can take care of things here.”

He said, “I don’t know.”

“Well, I know. Go home and rest. Your sisters and I will sort it all out.”

Father pushed back his hair, and it stuck out wild all over his head. “Sort through her things?”

My uncle said, “We can’t just leave it all here like this?”

My aunts and my mother looked at each other, as if they knew secrets no one else knew. Mother spoke up. “Your sisters and I will take care of it. It’s what women do, what needs to be done.” My aunts nodded, wiping their eyes with hankees.

Father wrung his hands. My uncles stood beside their brother, their hands hanging by their sides.

Mother put her hand on Father’s shoulder. “Women know how to hold pain in good and tight so it doesn’t get in the way. You go home and I’ll call you when things are settled here.”

I sat up. I didn’t know if I wanted to be with the women who were going to hold in their pain. Or, with the men who could leave so they didn’t have to feel the pain.

Mother looked at me as I half-sat up on the couch, and as if reading my mind, she asked, “Do you want to stay and help, Melissa?”

I decided, and shook my head. I didn’t want to watch them undo what my nonna had done. I was not a woman who could hold her pain and help them do what needed to be done.

Later, when I told her I wanted the paintings in her studio. She said, “We have to consult with all the family before those things are decided.”

I went to the studio with my satchel, a pillow and blanket, and refused to leave until it was time to get ready to fly home the next morning. Before I left, I took some of Nonna’s paints and paint brushes and put them in my satchel. I made sure I had her favorite boar’s hair brush. And I took one of her smaller barn-on-fire paintings, the one she’d painted while I’d visited and painted beside her.

I left the studio, put the key back where she kept it, and with one last look at all I loved, I walked away.

On the return flight home, I again sat and watched as things grew smaller and smaller until they were hidden by clouds and mists.

Father said, “I’m so sorry. I know how strong you’ve become and I didn’t trust you enough.” He touched my arm. “Princess, you have to believe I thought I was doing the right thing.” He took one of those shuddery breaths, like little kids do, and said, “Or maybe I was just too afraid to face it.” He pulled my chin so I had to look at him. “It consumed her. Consumed the very womb I grew in.”

I jerked my face away from him.

SIXTEEN

I pretended Grandmother Rosetta was still alive. I pictured her in her studio painting. If my parents tried to talk to me about her, I’d leave the room.

Mother made it her mission to force me to admit she was dead, but I wouldn’t. I’d smile at her and say, “Nonna is picking avocados for her salad right now.” Or I’d shrug and say, “I bet she is painting a burning barn in a secret place no one knows about.”

Father tried to talk to me, but I held my back stiff. He said, “She lived a full life. It’s normal and natural for people to get sick and die.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“Nonna loves her life. She’s going to plant an orange tree this year.”

“This isn’t healthy. Your mother is worried.”

I shrugged. But, I was only pretending to my parents, not to myself. I pretended to them that I was waiting for the day she’d take me to
Italy
. I knew I’d never go to
Italy
. Ever. I couldn’t go to
Italy
without Grandmother Rosetta. I just didn’t want to give my sad feelings to my parents. My feelings were all mine.

I knew Sweetie would be checking at Whale Back to see if I left another message, but I hadn’t gone back since the morning I left her the note two weeks ago. It didn’t seem right to be happy and run around on the mountain when Grandmother Rosetta couldn’t do anything she liked to do ever again. I knew it wasn’t what she wanted me to do, but I couldn’t help it.

I was lying in bed, listening to Father typing while a cool soft wind blew across me. It was either very late or very early and the dark was both still and alive, like the mountains and valleys always were.

I heard a rustle in the bushes. Then:
tap tap tap tap tap . . . tap tap
.

I stared at the ceiling.

“Wake up.”

I turned my head.

Sweetie leaned on the sill. “You about to stay in this here room the rest of your sorry life?”

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

“You got to get back to the mountain. Not right for you to stay inside all’a the time.”

“Why not?”

“Huhn. I know
why not
. Mama does it and she gets sicker, she don’t get better. She lays there and gets weak and cries and her soul gets tired of living. She’s getting to be in her own world half the time. You are not like that.”

“Maybe I am.”

Sweetie pulled herself in and stood over my bed. She shoved her hands on her hips. “Nuh uh. You are
not
.”

“
Shh
! You’re going to wake up my mother.”

She sat on the side of the bed. “I know how you hurt over your grandmaw. Heck, I miss my Grandpaw ever-day. I miss him and it don’t ever leave. But, you can’t let that stop you from living. You got to get up and get living ever-day you can.”

“But you said you don’t hurt.” I was crying, but not aloud. It was one of those kinds of crying where the tears are real hot, and they come out slow, like lava. They ooze down the cheeks and into the creases of the neck, spreading on the pillow.

“That’s the wrong kind of hurt and you orter know it.” She stood.

I turned my head away from her. “Why should you care what I do?”

“I miss having you around, just a bit, I reckon.”

When I finally turned my head back to her, Sweetie was gone.

I let the tears give way. My pillow soaked, then my nightgown, then the covers, and then my bed floated, and my whole room filled with my tears until everything, including me, gushed out of the window and on a giant wave followed Sweetie all the way to her mountain. I didn’t dream, much.

When morning peeked over the mountains, I was tired of my bed. I pointed, flexed my toes, rose up out of bed, stretched my arms to the ceiling, lowered them out to the sides and turned right and left back and forth, did twenty-five jumping jacks. I washed my face, dressed, and left my room to do chores and eat breakfast.

Mother sipped coffee, and she had a piece of toast, along with strawberry jam from the cat lady, in a plate in front of her. She smiled and I stopped short at that smile. It was a big wide-open smile, one that let all the sunshine outside come through her lips and eyes and into the room. My mother looked beautiful then, beautiful and sweet and real and . . . so  . . . so motherly. I wanted to run to her and throw my arms around her, but I felt weird, and I didn’t want to move to break the spell.

She said, “Good Morning. Good to see you up. Want some toast?”

“Yes Ma’am, but I’ll make it.” I popped bread in the toaster, poured myself some orange juice, and when the toast popped up, I put it on a plate, took it to the table, and spread on strawberry jam.

My mother and I sat across from each other, eating. When the toast was gone, she said, “You look so much better today.”

I picked up our dishes and took them to the sink.

“Don’t worry about those, I’ll get them,” Mother said.

“Oh. Okay. Well, then, where’s my chore list?”

“None today. I’ve done everything.”

“You . . . what?”

She gave up a tiny shrug. “You’ve been through a lot.”

I went to her and hugged her and when she hugged me back, I admitted how good it felt. “Thank you, Mother.”

Her voice sounded funny when she said, “Go on. Out. Before I think of something I forgot to do.”

I left the house as fast as I could.

I carried in my satchel a picture of my grandmother when she was young. She stood with her foot on the running board of an old truck, her grin spoke joy. It was a favorite photo of mine. She always looked fearless and ready to take on the whole world.

Sweetie was already at Whale Back waiting for me. She smiled a little shy. She didn’t say,
I’m glad you’re here
, or
I’m sorry about your nonna
. She didn’t have to say it, I knew she felt these things without her opening her mouth.

We slowly walked to Jabbering Creek. I took off my socks and shoes; Sweetie took off her boots. We put our feet into the cool water. I showed her the photo.

Sweetie took it from me and studied it. “You look like two peas sleeping in a pod.” She handed the photo back to me. “Me and your grandmaw would be friends. I can tell.”

“I want to be just like her.”

Out of her pocket she pulled the wooden bird Zemry had whittled and painted. “This here’s for you to keep for a while. It makes me smile, so it will make you smile.”

“But Zemry made that for you.”

“And since he made it for me, I can do what I want with it, right?”

I smiled thank you to her and put the bird into my pocket.

Our shoulders touched, our arms touched, and every now and then our little toes touched together in the water. I leaned my head on Sweetie’s head and she didn’t move away.

I didn’t want anything else to change. I wanted everything to stay just as it was right then. Forever.