The Duet (28 page)

46

Miranda forbade me from working in the café, but then Miranda never really did have a handle on authority over me. Besides, I was only a little shaky on my feet, and I needed to keep busy.

So despite her protests, I got up at dawn, showered and dressed, and made it over to the café shortly after she unlocked the door. Uncle Fred was working behind the counter, a rare occurrence indeed. I watched from the back doorway as he patiently told Grumpy Gloria that he doubted any of the offerings in the bakery case were gluten free, but that he would certainly convince Miranda to consider making that a daily choice for customers such as herself. He complimented Mrs. Makool on her beautiful hand-knit sweater, making her blush, then started talking to Abe about fishing, all while he clumsily operated the cash register.

Uncle Fred was all right. Some people thought he was grouchy and cantankerous, but those who bothered to know him, knew that wasn’t true. He was gentle and kind, and had a wicked sense of humor. He put up with three generations of Delaney girls under his roof, and still managed to avoid the funny farm. There had to be a large set of wings waiting for him in heaven for that.

I understood why he was overshadowed by my father, though. Uncle Fred was content to sit back and observe, while my father needed to be front and center at all times. My father was gregarious, and now I knew – thanks to Trisha – that he was also a shameless player. Uncle Fred was nothing like his younger brother. Sometimes I wished my mom had fallen for him instead.

“I thought I told you to stay in bed,” Miranda hissed, sidling up next to me as I poured myself a cup of coffee between customers.

“And I thought I told you I was fine.”

“You’re not fine. You fainted. And I still think you should see a doctor.”

I spun on her. “Miranda, I got a little lightheaded, and needed to sleep it off. That was two days ago, and I am just fine.”

I went about my business, but she stood there staring at me, hands folded across her chest. Mr. Baylor had just walked in, and was slowly making his way over to the counter.

“We need to talk about this,” Miranda said. “I hate how we left things.”

“Well you should have thought of that when you fed me a pack of lies all my life. I can’t believe you lectured me on how I handled things with Jay, when you knew I had a half-sister and never bothered to mention it.”

Miranda didn’t flinch. “I didn’t know who she was, and I really didn’t want to dig up a painful past. I certainly had no interest in meeting Frank’s other wife.”

“Mr. Baylor, so nice to see you,” I said cheerfully, tying on my apron. “What looks good today?”

I tried to give Mr. Baylor all my attention, but my head was spinning and whirling in a hundred different directions. I was so angry at Miranda for keeping things from me, and so pissed about the fact that I really had no cause to throw stones. Hadn’t I done the same thing to Jay? Only my lie of omission seemed a lot worse.

“You changed the menu,” Mr. Baylor said, staring up at the chalkboard with a frown on his face.

I smiled. “We have a delicious Italian Roast on special today, Mr. Baylor. Would you like to try a cup, or would you prefer something lighter?”

We went through our daily ritual, and I listened to a story about Mr. Baylor’s childhood in Brooklyn. I was distracted, though, and unable to fully appreciate this gift that he gave me each day. I politely excused myself from his table by the window, and left Uncle Fred at the register while I went in the back to find Miranda. She was outside on the porch, smoking. She never smoked unless she was really wound up.

I sat down beside her. “Don’t smoke, Mama.”

She stared at the cigarette longingly before stubbing it out. “I’m sorry, Izzy.”

I sighed. “You know what? I’m sorry. I had no right to…”

“You had every right. I was wrong not to tell you. Whatever Frank was, and however much he hurt me, that shouldn’t have kept you from knowing your sister. Truth be told, I was embarrassed. I think maybe that’s the real reason I never said anything. And for the record, I didn’t lie your entire life. Uncle Fred told me about Amy a few years after we moved here. You were about fourteen and still mad at me for leaving California. I didn’t think you needed any more ammunition to hate me.”

“I never hated you, Mama. That was just a heap of teenage angst and a lost fantasy about kissing a surfer boy. And why would you be embarrassed?”

“I was embarrassed because I was so stupid. Frank was charming, but he was never kind, and he didn’t care for me. Deep inside I knew that, but I got caught up in his world; this illusion that he was this brilliant musician and I was his muse. It was more of a delusion, I think.”

I pulled my legs up, hugging them to my chest, while I toyed with the frayed hem of my jeans and waited for her to continue. I wasn’t mad anymore. The mad had leaked out of me, and now I was just tired and I wanted everything to be peaceful.

“So, do you think you’ll try and get to know Trisha? She seems like she really wants to be a part of your life.”

I shrugged. I had so much other stuff on my plate already. The truth was, I had given Trisha very little consideration, and I suddenly felt really crappy about that. She certainly wasn’t the same damaged, emotional girl that had once tortured and been tortured by Cooper. The two of them were a ticking time bomb, both in terrible places and destined to destroy each other. She had suffered his loss as much and Jay and I had, and that was easy to forget. She deserved a second chance with me, and I would give it to her.

“I’ll take her to dinner later this week or something. We’ll talk.”

Miranda nodded and swallowed visibly. I couldn’t imagine that welcoming Trisha into our fold would be very easy on her, but she would handle it like a trooper.

I covered her hand with my own and we watched together as the town we both loved went about beginning their day.

47

Dear Jay,

Today, your daughter was born.

It would be impossible for me to try and describe to you all the feelings that I have right at this moment, but I feel like I owe it to you to at least try.

First of all, let me say that she is gorgeous. And I know everybody says that about their own children, but I am not kidding. Miranda says she looks just like me, but I don’t really see it (although, who are we kidding, that would be good too, right?). She has the tiniest everything. Her mini hands grab for me, and my heart melts, I can’t stop touching her pebble toes, and Jay, when she looks up at me… God, well… it’s like the stars are all perfectly aligned and the meaning of life has just been revealed.

I wish you were here. I truly mean that. You are the only thing that could make this day more perfect. I’m sorry that I made this choice, but it was the one I thought was right. Someday I hope you’ll forgive me. But for right now, just know that our daughter is safe and loved – so much – and that I miss you.

Izzy

Dear Jay,

I feel like I’ve let you down. So many times I pick up the phone thinking I’ll just call you and tell you everything. Not just about Sydney, but about me. About how I still think about you every day, and how I crave your touch, and how I need to hear your voice. But every single day that goes by, it gets harder. I waited too long already, and I don’t know if you can ever forgive me. And that’s what keeps me from dialing your number; that fear that you’ll hate me. I’d rather imagine that you’ve all but forgotten about me; that maybe I’m just some distant, pleasant memory of a time that was better.

Izzy

Dear Jay,

Today was Sydney’s first day of kindergarten. It’s incomprehensible to me that we created this little human being who thinks for herself (she even picked out her own clothes for today!). And now I’m releasing her into the world where she’ll be influenced by all the different people she’ll meet along her way. There will now be a huge chunk of her life that I am not a part of, and I am having a little trouble grasping that.

These are the days that I miss you the most. I think you and I would have made a good team, raising the independent, precocious child Sydney is turning out to be. We would have balanced each other out. Sometimes I think that even though she hasn’t met you, she’s inherited some of your better traits. Yes, she is boisterous and outspoken like I am, but sometimes she gets very introspective. She’s a deep thinker, that one. And smart – so very smart. If I had a dollar for every question she asks that stumps me, well I’d be a very rich woman. The stuff she comes out with is entertaining, to say the least.

I wish you were here. I wish I’d done things differently.

Izzy

Jay was only half way through the pile of letters Izzy had given him. He couldn’t read too many because earlier, when he’d read the one about Sydney’s first Christmas, he got so choked up with emotion, his eyes filled up. He had to splash cold water on his face and stand on the balcony in the rain for a half hour before he’d been able to continue.

When Izzy had handed him the letters, he thought they were the ones she’d written back when he was in rehab. She had once told him that she had answered all his letters back then. But when he opened that first one, he was knocked over. This was such a gift she’d given him. Every milestone in Sydney’s life was outlined – and all in Izzy’s quirky narrative voice. Plus there was a photo in every one.

The only thing that would’ve been better, of course, was if he’d been there in person for all of these milestones. But he was working through that. With each passing day he felt less and less angry, and more grateful to Izzy. She raised Sydney without him, and maybe it was selfish of her not to tell him; but before now, would he have even been able to handle all this? Maybe instinctively Izzy knew that he needed to get his head on straight before being introduced into his daughter’s life.

Maybe she was right.

His phone rang, disturbing the silence in the lonely hotel room. He welcomed the distraction.

“It’s Izzy,” she said before he could even say hello.

“How are you feeling?” She had been way too pale when he left her the morning before. He hadn’t wanted to leave until he knew she’d eaten and fallen back to sleep, but he knew Miranda would be on top of it.

“I’m good as new.” There was a trace of sarcasm and she still sounded tired.

He didn’t say anything. Despite the promise he’d made to his therapist, that he would try to express himself more by speaking what he felt, it was so easy to fall into old habits. Especially around Izzy.

“So, my mother told me you and she had a nice talk while I was lying upstairs in my comatose state.” She paused, but only for a second. “Is it just me you can’t talk to, Jay? I mean, I left my home to get away from your stubborn stony silence, for God’s sake. But you meet my mother for two seconds and suddenly you’re baring your soul to her. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“So you left because I was quiet?”

“That’s what you took from what I just said? Really?”

He sighed. “It’s not just you.”

“It’s not just me, what.”

“It’s not only you that I can’t talk to. You know that, or you used to know it anyway. But I’m working on it.”

“How? By luring me to the Stone Pony so you can humiliate me with your mean songs?”

Jay pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked his breath in. “Izzy, I said I was sorry, and I meant it. I know I fucked up. I will write you a thousand not-so-mean songs to make up for it. Whatever it takes.”

“I don’t want that,” she said, and her voice had lost the angry edge to it. She now sounded resigned, and somehow that was even worse.

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to go back seven years and redo everything. I want to save Cooper and stay in California and raise Sydney together with you. That’s what I want.”

“Yeah. Well you can’t have that.” He sounded gruffer than he’d meant to.

The silence on the line stretched out for so long Jay thought Izzy might have hung up. But then he heard her clear her throat and sniffle. She was crying. He had to get off the call right now. But just before he could say anything, she spoke. “Miranda wants you to come for dinner tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. Bring a nice bottle of red. We’re having beef.”

Jay was so stunned by the invitation, he just nodded, forgetting for a moment that she couldn’t see him. “Okay, I’ll be there,” he finally answered, ending the call. He tossed the phone on the bed and ran his hands through his hair. Then he picked up his notebook and began scribbling furiously; only for the first time since he’d arrived in New Jersey, the words he wrote were not of the devastating variety. These were different.

Sometimes all you needed for a change of attitude, was a tiny spark of hope.

48

I finished setting the table, then popped an olive into my mouth. I looked up, expecting Miranda to slap my hand, but instead I got the surprise of my life. Uncle Fred was eating a piece of London Broil from my mother’s fingers. And what was this? Was Miranda… was she batting her eyelashes at him? My mother…
flirting
… with Uncle Fred?