by Jill G. Hall
“No, Mom, nonna means ‘grandmother’ in Italian.”
“Nonna’s name is Maria.”
Anne wrote, Sylvia Maria McFarland. “That’s beautiful, and visually appealing.”
“Like her.” He looked back at his daughter. “Oh, she’s smiling at me.”
Anne exchanged knowing glances with her mom.
Sergio’s nose wrinkled. “PU. I think she needs changing.” He held her toward Anne, and her mom came to the rescue again.
“I’ll do the honors. Come on, you cutie-patootie.” She spread a receiving blanket on the kitchenette table and laid Sylvie down.
“But that’s where we eat,” Sergio complained.
Her mom shrugged. “There’s no room in here for a changing table.”
“I’ll be so glad when you move to New York with me.” He sat on the bed next to Anne and put his arm around her.
“They’re not moving to New York; they’re coming to Michigan,” Anne’s mother said.
Anne froze for a moment and made a split-second decision. Even though she hated to break both their hearts, she announced, “I’ve decided to stay here.”
Sergio moved his arm and stared at her. “I thought . . . She’s my baby.”
“And she’s my grandbaby.” Anne’s mom picked up Sylvie and carried her to the rocker.
“Yes, she is. And you are both welcome to visit whenever you wish, but I’m staying here.”
“It’s too small,” Sergio said.
“I don’t care. My life is here. Our life is here.” Anne took the baby from her mom and sat back on the bed.
“Can I at least get a bigger place for you and Sylvie?” Sergio asked. “Then I can stay with you when I come to visit.”
“That’s not appropriate. We’re not together anymore.”
“You seem to be together to me.” Her mom pursed her lips.
“I want to be independent. I’m staying here, and that’s that. I’ll have plenty of help.”
“Who?” her mother asked.
“Mrs. Landenheim has offered to watch her when I’m at the museum.”
“Mrs. Landenheim! That old bat.” Sergio raised his voice.
“Shh!” Anne put a finger to her lips and pointed at the baby. “I thought you liked her.”
“I do. Not to help raise my child, though. She’ll have the baby in curlers and lipstick before she even turns one.”
Anne couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s funny.”
“Your landlady? Is it fitting to mix renting with day care?”
“It’ll be convenient. It’ll be fine.” Anne shrugged. “Besides, Dottie’s coming in a few weeks and is considering moving out here to help.”
“Dottie?” Sergio stood. “A drug addict?”
“You know how undependable she’s always been.” Her mom raised her usually calm voice.
“She’s changed. I told you, she went to rehab and apologized.”
“That girl’s a piece of work.” Sergio shook his head.
“Also, Fay told me I can drop off Sylvie at Bay Breeze anytime, if need be.”
“Won’t she have her hands full with her own baby?” Sergio seemed to be looking for any reason to complain.
“She said the more the merrier. George helps out there too.” Anne didn’t want to tell them he was Mr. Mom when Fay was at the gallery. “Don’t worry—we’ll be fine.”
The baby was so sweet, it would be easy, she hoped.
52
Outside in the pitch darkness, a siren wailed, the dog in the building next door howled, and Sylvie started to bawl. Exhausted and bleary-eyed, Anne started crying as well. She pulled the baby into bed with her and tried to feed her. However, Sylvie continued to shriek. Anne changed her diaper and rocked her until the baby’s brown eyes, just like Sergio’s, blinked closed. Anne ran a hand over the soft, dark hair. Only a month old, Sylvia was starting to look like Sergio.
Anne couldn’t stop crying. She was in love more than ever with Sylvie. What was wrong with her, then? She should be happy. Could she be sleep deprived or have postpartum depression, or did she just miss her mom? She had slept on the futon for two weeks while Sergio had stayed at the Mark Hopkins, come down to the apartment every morning, and stayed into the evenings.
She had been relieved to see them go, eager to begin a life of motherhood on her own. Now, she would give anything to have them back. She missed her mom changing the baby and rocking her, trips to the Laundromat, and her mother’s cheery disposition. She missed Sergio’s help, especially his frittatas, mochas, and opera singing. If her mother hadn’t been there, Anne wondered if he would have tried to stay with her and how that might have worked out.
At times, though, he got on her nerves, constantly picking up after them, trying to keep the apartment neat and tidy. He didn’t say anything about it, but she could tell the mess drove him crazy. What would he be like when Sylvie threw toys all over the floor?
When he left, she’d been sure she’d made the right decision; now, she wondered whether she had. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer to get them a bigger place, and perhaps even a nanny. She really wanted to be independent. Before the baby was born, she’d thought her life was complicated. Now, it was just plain ridiculous—the stink of dirty diapers, laundry piled up, sleepless nights. She looked forward to going back to work next week and having Dottie come help.
Anne tried to set Sylvie back in the bassinet, but she screamed. The new guy in Val’s apartment below banged on his ceiling. “Knock it off up there.”
“Sorry!” Anne yelled down to him, and returned to the rocker. Many experts recommended letting an infant cry it out. Living in an apartment like this meant that didn’t work. A crying baby wasn’t fair to the neighbors; plus, Sylvia’s wails broke her heart.
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Papa’s gonna buy . . .” Anne sang to Sylvie through the screams until they both dozed off.
Anne woke when the sun began to fill the room. Where was Mrs. Landenheim? This wasn’t the first time she’d overslept. She was supposed to be here at six o’clock to watch the baby while Anne took a shower, ate breakfast, and did some chores.
She texted her: Where are you?
Anne waited a few minutes, but Mrs. Landenheim hadn’t replied. She couldn’t stand her grungy body any longer, so she put Sylvie in her bassinet and climbed into the shower with tears streaming down her face.
Out of the shower, Sylvie bawling again, Anne threw on sweats and pulled her wet hair into a scrunchie. Frantically, she checked her phone. Still no word from Mrs. Landenheim. Anne hoped she was okay.
With the baby in one arm, she opened the refrigerator with the other: a black banana, two olives in a jar, a cardboard piece of pizza. Sergio had stocked up before he’d left, but by now everything had run out. Old Mother Hubbard scrounged in her cupboard, but nothing was there. She climbed out onto the deck, but there weren’t any berries in the garden. She located the Chips Ahoy from the freezer, where she’d hidden them from herself, and ate a few. She’d go back to eating healthfully tomorrow and planned to go to the grocery store and do laundry while Mrs. Landenheim watched Sylvie.
Anne called her landlady because she still hadn’t responded to the text.
After the fifth ring, she answered.
“When are you coming up?” Anne asked.
“Sorry, no can do.”
“What do you mean?” Anne tried hard not to scream. “Are you sick?”
“No, no. Ray Ray has whisked me off to Napa. We’re staying at Calistoga Spa Hot Springs.”
Anne pictured the former gallery owner and Mrs. Landenheim wallowing in the mud baths, and it wasn’t pretty.
“Please feed the cats.”
Crying, Anne hung up. When Mrs. Landenheim had offered to provide childcare, Anne had thought she would be more dependable. At least Dottie would be here soon.
Anne breathed in and out and gazed at her Southwest cloud collage. “Serenity now!” she called.
/> She couldn’t get Sylvie to stop crying, no matter what she did. “Alexa, play ‘’O sole mio,’” she commanded, as she put Sylvie back in the bassinet and let her cry.
Anne wrote with a Sharpie on three stickies—I am independent; I am calm; I am happy—and stuck them on her bathroom mirror.
Anne’s phone chimed with a text from Dottie: Call me.
Speak of the devil. As soon as Sylvie fell asleep, Anne tiptoed into the bathroom, closed the door, and called her friend.
“How’s it going?” Dottie asked.
“It’ll be fine as soon as you’re here. I can’t wait for you to see the baby. What time do you get in?”
“About that. I can’t come just yet.”
“What? Why not?” Anne held back the panic rising from her stomach to her throat.
“I’ve been invited on a ski trip.”
“But you don’t even ski.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn.” Dottie whined, “How could I say no?”
“You could say no because your dear friend needs you.”
“It’s Switzerland. You know I’ve dreamed of going to Europe. You should be happy for me to have the opportunity for a free vacation.”
Happy for you. Girl! Right after I slap you! Anne felt as if she’d taken a bullet to the chest as she remembered that Sergio was also going to St. Moritz. Was that too much of a coincidence?
“Who are you going with?”
“Some guy I saw at a gallery event.”
Anne waited. “What’s his name?”
“You don’t know him. I’ll come visit another time.”
Anne tried to keep the rage out of her voice. “The ticket is nontransferable.”
“I’ll pay you back. I’m not sure when. I need to make some money first.”
“I thought your art was selling well.” After all, Dottie had made $10,000 at her solo show a few years back.
“Sure, but I’ve decided to go in a different direction. I’m thinking of hosting a podcast where people send me a topic and I talk about it for twelve minutes off the top of my head, without doing any research, and then I research and talk for another twelve minutes. Don’t you think it’s a fantastic idea?”
No. “Sure. Sounds lucrative.” Anne nodded.
“I also might go back to school to get a certificate in museum studies to learn how to become a curator. I’d be good at telling people where to put their artwork. Don’t you think?”
Yes, if you planned to hang everything upside down.
Sylvie wailed.
“Bye,” Anne blubbered, and hung up.
She wanted to call her mom, who’d tried to warn her about Dottie, but Anne hadn’t listened. At least her mother wasn’t the type to ever say “I told you so.”
Anne picked up Sylvie and sat in the rocker. If she was going to be independent, she’d better start now. She loaded Sylvie in the front pack, put on a giant down coat, zipped it up to the baby’s head, and placed the pink cap on her. Anne ran down the stairs, fed the cats without even saying hello, and dashed across the street to the grocery. Filling the cart, she bounced Sylvie until she quieted. Back at her apartment, Anne seized an armload of dirty clothes, ran back down the stairs, and tossed them into the cart. Back upstairs, she drank a glass of water and repeated up and down two times more with dirty clothes, her coin jar, and laundry detergent.
Amid all the motion, Sylvie had fallen asleep in the front pack. From all of this running around, Anne would lose her baby weight soon. She started pushing the cart up California Street toward the Laundromat and ran into Mata. She hadn’t seen her for months.
“Missy! Has it really come to this? You’re homeless now too?”
Anne burst into tears. “I can’t keep up with it all!”
“Now, now. It’ll be okay. What’s this?” Mata asked, pointing to the bulge under Anne’s coat.
Anne unzipped it and turned the baby’s little head to the side.
Mata’s eyes grew wide. “What a living doll!”
Sylvie shrieked.
“Better call in the reinforcements.”
Anne jiggled Sylvie up and down. “I’m trying to be independent.”
“It’s time to ask for help. Don’t you have that one friend you can always count on?”
Anne dried her eyes and pushed the cart up the rest of the way to the empty Laundromat. She filled all the washers, added coins, and turned on the machines. Sylvie started crying again. Arms tired, Anne let the baby hang in the front pack, hopping up and down until Sylvie quieted.
Sergio called on FaceTime. She considered not picking up, and besides, the washers and dryers were noisy. But she decided she needed to confront him about Dottie.
“Ciao, bella.”
“Ciao.” Anne moved the phone so he could see Sylvie.
“She’s growing fast.”
“She’ll be playing basketball before we know it.” Anne paused. “When’re you going to St. Moritz?”
“St. Moritz? What do you mean?”
“Your ski trip.”
“I decided to come out and see you and Sylvie instead.”
“So, you’re not with Dottie?”
“Dottie? What are you talking about? Of course not.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
“I’m going to search for a condo to buy so I can stay in it when I come to visit.”
Did that mean he’d be out here all the time? Anne had mixed feelings about that. “With all the techies, that would be so expensive.”
“Staying in a hotel all the time would be expensive also.”
She finished the laundry and returned home with three armloads of folded clothes to carry up. Sylvie started shrieking again. Anne changed her, she tried unsuccessfully to feed her, she rocked her. She couldn’t stand it anymore. Mata was right; there was a friend Anne could always count on.
She typed, SOS! And pressed SEND.
53
Cliff touched her shoulder. “Morning, glory. Or should I say afternoon?” His voice teased her, as if he not only remembered the kiss, but knew about her dream as well.
Bright sunlight streamed into the cabin. Outside, a mourning dove cooed. Sally Sue rolled over and hid her blushing face. After tilling the soil, after the hoedown, after the kiss, after the dream, she wanted him. She wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.
“I’m off to work the horses.” His boots clomped to the door.
Today, no matter what, she needed to find a way to hightail it away from here before he kissed her again. If not, she was afraid of what might happen.
At the window, she watched a buck wander toward the pond. Gray clouds swooned in across the turquoise sky. Oak trees formed black silhouettes below. Far off, thunder boomed.
Outside, she paused as a tom turkey swaggered down the meadow, warbling. His red waddle and snood shook. A hen hunkered in the grass, ignoring the tom’s wooing. Sally Sue hoped she’d reciprocate soon.
She climbed down to the ravine behind the cabin. She scooped fresh water into a bucket that flowed below the rocks under a willow tree. As she walked back to the cabin, she saw the tom’s feathers quivering with desire.
Cliff haltered Roan and led her to the round pen. He brushed her back, saddled her up, and got on, his tall, straight body erect. Sally Sue longed for him again as he rode up the path beside the meadow. Clouds rolled overhead and the sky darkened, foretelling rain. She’d better stay.
Heat penetrated the cabin. She opened the trunk and pulled out the green dress from the trunk, laid it on the bed, and fingered the black lace. She poured the cool water into the bowl and washed her hands and face with lavender soap. Using a rag, she scrubbed sticky perspiration from the rest of her body.
Just then, lightning lit the sky and thunder boomed. Rain began to batter the roof. She held the frock up to her in the looking glass and had no choice but to do what she had to do.
She slipped off her nightgown, pulled the frock’s straps over her arms, an
d tied the bows tight at her waist. The flimflam man’s black lace fanned across the top of the bodice, exposing the tops of her breasts. She’d repurposed her travel suit’s bustle, plumping it as much as possible to accentuate her derriere. She shook it like that tom. The bottom of the frock hit the tops of her knees.
The door opened. Cliff slipped inside with the rough earth smell of his body—horse, hay, loam—and she turned to him. His hair and clothes were wet with rain. Her heart raced as she moved toward him, the satin rustling between her legs.
She liked it when he put a hand on the back of her neck and traced his fingers between her breasts. She liked it when he gazed into her eyes, pulled her close, and kissed her. He tasted of honey and sage. She touched the cleft of his chin and couldn’t help but kiss him back, forgetting her upbringing, herself. This was the kind of kiss no one ever wanted to end—full of heart, heat, and desire.
She pushed him onto the bed, unbuttoned his shirt, slid it off. She untied her dress, let it fall to the ground. Rain continued to pound on the roof. He moved his hand onto her thighs. She moved on top of him and had no idea what to do next, but in the throes of their rocking, slow heat, she ached for him. The thing she’d been warned about most. The thing she wanted most.
Her instincts overpowered her. She lost sense of time and place, ran her fingers through the back of his damp hair, touched the small of his back. Those steel-blue eyes, now sky blue, gazed into hers until the very end, the connection divine.
Afterward, she wanted to stay that way forever, floating in his arms. She rolled beside him and watched him sleep, a slight smile on his face, his muscled chest moving up and down. She wanted to put her hand there gently to wake him for more.
Instead, she ran outside. The rain had ceased; the sun was warm on her bare skin.
“Hallelujah!” she yelled. She should have been saddened by her innocence lost; instead, she twirled around, the soil soft beneath her feet. The mystery now over, she just looked forward to doing it again.
Her mother had always told her, “Your womanhood is your main asset. Only bad women like sex.” Pastor Grimes spoke of the sins of the flesh. Instead of guilt, Sally Sue felt free. If it felt so good, why would God consider it a sin?