by Karen White
He glanced up at his aunt, who shrugged with one shoulder as if the gift were just a trifling matter. Slowly, he untied the ribbon and slid his fingers beneath the tape, unveiling the back of the frame. After lifting it from the paper, he flipped it over and laid it on the table.
He stared at the framed album cover, a soft smile lifting his lips. “I like it. Very much.” He stood and kissed his aunt on her cheek. “Thank you, Aunt Helena.” He sat down again, staring at the photo of his grandmother and two great-aunts.
“You can hang it in your office,” Gigi commented.
I thought of his office filled with antiques and computer monitors, and the serious man who inhabited it, and then regarded the framed photo of three beautiful Hungarian singers and I almost laughed. It would have been like hanging a poster of dogs playing poker next to the Mona Lisa in the Louvre.
“You’re right, Peanut.” Finn sounded as surprised as I was to hear him say it. “I think on the wall between the two windows behind my desk would be perfect. What do you think?”
“Perfect,” she said. “Don’t you think so, Ellie?”
“I think so,” I said slowly. “Maybe it’s time the office sees your other side.”
He looked almost annoyed. “My ‘other side’?”
Gigi and I shared a look.
Before I could formulate an appropriate answer, she said, “Madame LaFleur would say that you’re more of a classical ballet dancer instead of a jazz dancer. But sometimes all you have to do is change costumes to become something different.” She smiled matter-of-factly before turning to me. “Can we have cake now?”
“After your medicine,” Finn said, scraping his chair away from the table and standing. Although he was wearing casual pants and a golf shirt, his face was the one he wore to the office, and it occurred to me that regardless of who he wanted to be, his daughter’s illness would always dictate his choice of dance.
Gigi groaned, dragging her feet as she followed her father to the kitchen. I waited for them to be done and then shooed everyone, including Helena, onto the screened porch so I could bring out the cake. Teri had brought the candles, and after the two of us agreed that we had no idea if Finn was turning thirty-four or thirty-five, she stuck three candles in the middle, then lit them.
We began singing “Happy Birthday” before we’d left the kitchen and were quickly joined by Gigi and Helena, who, despite her age, still had a strong contralto voice. I set the cake down on the wrought-iron table in front of him.
“Three candles?” he remarked. “I’m much older than that, I can assure you.”
“One for the past, one for the present, and one for the future,” I explained.
Helena leaned forward, her eyes reflecting the light from the candles. “There should be more than three,” she said.
Finn’s eyebrows lifted. “Two for the future? For the road not taken as well as the well-trod path?”
She shook her head, her eyes focused on the candles. “Two for the past. For the one we wish we had and for the one we have to live with.”
Finn stared at his great-aunt for a long moment and then blew out the candles, all extinguishing at the same moment as if an unseen hand had suddenly closed a door.
I stood in the grass outside the screened porch, the long blades tickling my legs. The sound of the old gramophone scratched out its music, a ribbon of sound that wove itself like a river into the night.
We’d listened to the Szarka Sisters album only once and not more—at Helena’s insistence—and their voices had been pure and clear, their harmonies as if sung by a single voice. Now we were listening to an old Bing Crosby album, one of his earliest. There was something about the music of the early forties that made one nostalgic for another time.
Helena had retired to her room and Teri rocked in one of the rockers, a sleeping Gigi on her lap. Teri’s head bobbed as she tried to stay awake.
I glanced over at Finn, who was fitting a lens onto the telescope. “Should I wake Gigi? She was so excited about seeing the stars.”
“It’s past her bedtime and it’s important that she gets her sleep. I’ll make sure that she gets a chance tomorrow night. We’ll just start a little earlier.” He peered into the eyepiece, then made another adjustment. “It’s better to wait until full dark, but not necessary.”
He moved his hands toward the stand and began to turn a knob, raising the telescope. “We should get a good view of Ursa Major—Big Bear.” He paused, studying the sky. “The best time to view the constellation in the Northern Hemisphere is in April, but we’ll still get a good view—and of Ursa Minor, too.” He looked through the lens again and began to move it slowly to the right. “I’m assuming you know the Big Dipper?”
“Of course. And the Little Dipper. But I’m afraid that’s where my knowledge of astronomy ends.”
He lifted his eyes away from the telescope to give me an amused look. After returning to his perusal of the sky, he said, “The handle of the Big Dipper is the Big Bear’s tail, and the dipper’s cup is the bear’s flank.”
Stepping back, he said, “Here, it’s your turn.”
I moved up to the telescope, lifting my hands to the wide neck to steady myself, but Finn grabbed them before I could touch the cool metal. It was the first time he’d touched me, and the warmth of his skin startled me, as if I’d dipped my fingers into sand and found water instead.
Our eyes met for a brief moment before he released my hands. “Try not to touch the telescope. It took a while to get it in the precise spot.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak, and pressed my eye against the eyepiece. I felt momentarily dizzy as I tried to reconcile how close the constellation suddenly seemed, as if I’d been propelled into space and was floating weightless amid the moon and stars. “They look so close,” I said, resisting the temptation to stretch out my fingers to see if I could touch them.
“I have the lens set so that you can see the whole thing. With a stronger lens we could focus on individual stars, but I thought we’d start with this.”
I blinked my eye carefully, as if I were afraid the whole bright expanse of stars would disappear. But they were still there, waiting for me. “Tell me what I’m looking at. I’m guessing you probably didn’t need the beginner’s astronomy book.”
“A refresher couldn’t hurt,” he said diplomatically. He moved closer, close enough that I could hear him breathing, feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. “Do you see the Big Dipper?”
It took me only a moment to hone in on the familiar group of stars I’d once proudly pointed out to my father. “Yes, I’ve got it.”
“Follow the two stars at the end of the cup upward, and the next bright star you’ll run into is Polaris, which is part of the Little Dipper.”
“The North Star,” I said quietly, remembering another quiet night like this with Eve and my father on his boat listening to him explain the stars to us and their importance to sailors.
I heard the smile in Finn’s voice. “So you do know more about astronomy than you think.” He stepped closer, his voice very close to my ear, as if he was trying to see exactly what I was seeing. “The distance to Polaris is about five times the angle between the two stars at the end of the cup of the Big Dipper. Because they’re so useful in finding the North Star, these two stars are known as the Pointer Stars.”
He gently touched my shoulder. “Step back for a minute. I want to see if I can get closer to the North Star.”
I did as he asked, watching as he reached into a small box of lenses that had come with the telescope. Because I was preoccupied with what he was doing, his question came as a surprise, which was probably intentional.
“How is your sister?”
“Eve? Oh, you mean with the pregnancy? She’s doing fine.”
He nodded absently, moving the telescope slightly to the left. “I remember ho
w sick Harper was the whole nine months with Peanut. It was exhausting for both of us.” He tilted his head to give me a wry smile.
“No, nothing like that. So far, anyway. It’s still early. But thanks for asking.”
He straightened and focused his attention on me. “It’s just that I know how much she depends on you, and I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t making more demands on your time right now than you’re able to give.”
“Thank you, but I’m managing fine. Glen will be taking Eve to some of her doctor’s appointments, which will be a big help, and he’s been doing the grocery shopping since I started working here.”
His eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, as if they held answers to questions I wasn’t ready to ask. “Glen—that’s your brother-in-law, right? The one who came to check up on you on your first day here.”
I was glad it was too dark for him to see my reddening cheeks. “Yes. He feels he needs to be the man of the house, since it’s only him with us three women.” My attempt to lighten the mood failed.
“I see,” he said, making it clear that he didn’t. He placed his eye over the eyepiece, keeping both eyes open as he’d instructed me to do. “It just seemed to me that his concern for you went a little overboard.” He paused. “And that you didn’t seem to mind.”
The air seemed too thin, my lungs unable to gather enough oxygen. I saw spots that mingled with the stars in the black sky and felt as if all of my deepest secrets had been laid out across the universe for the world to see.
“He’s Eve’s husband,” I managed.
“I know,” he said matter-of-factly. He stepped back from the telescope and motioned for me to come forward again. “Here’s a better look at Polaris.”
I stumbled, my feet feeling numb, but Finn caught my arm and positioned me in front of the telescope. I leaned forward and looked through the eyepiece. The North Star seemed huge, filling the lens with bright light.
He stood behind me. “If you can spot Polaris in the sky, you can always tell which way is north, and the angle of Polaris above the horizon tells you your latitude on earth. That’s why the North Star has always been important for sailors. It was the star that brought them home.”
I stepped back and looked up at him, wondering if he was still talking about the stars. The record had stopped, the scratching bump of the needle a steady percussion beneath the wings of the chirping insects and the night birds that flitted invisibly across the marsh toward the river.
“I need to go,” I said, my voice breathless. “It’s late.” I didn’t move, and neither did he.
“I was hoping you’d play the piano. Aunt Helena wanted to hear Debussy.”
I began walking back toward the sanctuary of the screened porch. “I’ll play for her when I come on Wednesday.”
I’d made it to the porch when he called out, “Thank you for the birthday cake. It wasn’t as bad as Aunt Helena said it was.”
I pressed my forehead against the wooden frame of the door, surprised to find myself smiling. “That’s a relief,” I said. “Good night, Finn.”
“Good night, Eleanor.”
I let the screen door shut softly behind me, closing out the night and the bright star that guided lost souls toward home.
CHAPTER 18
Eleanor
It was barely ten thirty in the morning, but Glen’s car was at the curb when I pulled up. I quickly jumped out of the car, a sick feeling in my stomach, hearing Eve’s voice repeating itself over and over in my head. If I die, you’d be free.
The door opened and Glen met me on the porch. Trying to quell my panic, I asked, “Why are you home? Is Eve all right?”
“She’s just resting on the couch. She seemed real tired this morning when I left. It was slow at work, so I decided to take an extended lunch break. What are you doing home?”
“I’m heading out to Edisto later, but Mr. Beaufain said I could take the rest of the morning off, too, when I told him I was going to the library first to return a book and pick up a few new ones for his great-aunt.”
I sank down on the porch swing with relief. “I think it’s natural for pregnancy to zap a lot of energy.”
“That’s what her doctor said.”
I glanced over at him, trying not to show my surprise. “Her doctor?”
“I called Dr. Wise. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t need to bring her in or anything.”
I bit my lip to hold back from blurting out more than I should. It was Eve’s life, Eve’s pregnancy, and not mine.
He continued. “She had me take Eve’s temperature, and that was normal.” Glen sat down next to me, rubbing his palms down the thighs of his pants. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through nine months of this.”
I studied his face, still seeing the boy I’d fallen in love with all those years ago. But something was different, too. Somehow his jawline didn’t seem right, his nose not as straight, and his hair too dark. I pulled back with alarm as I realized I was comparing him to Finn.
“Are you all right?”
His concern made it worse. “I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “You’re really happy about the baby, aren’t you?”
He nodded without hesitation. “Yes. I hope—”
An image of Helena, all alone in her house by the river, loomed in my mind, yet instead of her face I saw my own. I cut him off, not wanting to hear the rest of what he wanted to say, knowing it would lead me to the same dead end I’d been circling for years. “I know how much Eve wants the baby, too. Being wanted is a great place for a child to start out.”
“I still care for you—”
I held up my hand. “Don’t. Don’t say it. You and Eve have your life together, and I’m finding my own.”
He reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I wanted to lean into him, to allow him to make all the hurt go away as if I were still a teenager waylaying him on his way to pick up Eve for a date. I’d steal a single kiss as if that might make me happy until the next time. It seemed to me as if I were still waiting, and for the first time I couldn’t think of what I’d been waiting for.
I jumped off the swing. “Is Mama dressed and ready? I called to tell her I was taking her to the library.”
Glen looked at me oddly. “She’s in the den, watching television. I wasn’t aware that she was a big reader.”
I walked toward the door, remembering to keep my tread light so I wouldn’t awaken Eve. “She used to be, when my father was alive. When she became a single mother, it was a little hard for her to find the time. They have magazines, too—anything would be better than her sitting in front of the television set all day.”
A wide smile split his face.
“What’s so funny?”
“Remember that time you stole Mr. Grund’s television set so you and Eve could watch the premier of The X Files?”
“I didn’t steal it; I borrowed it. Ours was broken and Eve didn’t want to miss the beginning of the series. And I would have gotten away with it if Eve hadn’t taken her time raiding their refrigerator.”
“Because you told her to raid it. She wanted to leave as soon as the TV set was back on the stand.”
I clamped down on the inside of my cheek to stop smiling. Our mother had been livid—not that I’d taken the neighbor’s television but that I’d involved Eve in another episode of misbehavior. “Yeah, well, she didn’t have to do it just because I said so.”
He leaned back in the swing, placing his left arm over the back so that his gold wedding ring caught the sunlight. “You were the one bright spot for her. I don’t think she thought she had a choice to say no.”
I was about to ask him what he meant, but my mother came through the door. “Are you ready? I’ve been waiting all morning.”
I looked at my mother, the woman who’d once been so perfectly groomed, and wondered when she’d begun
to wear sensible shoes and think that a housedress was acceptable to wear out in public. At least her hair was clean and brushed and she’d applied lipstick—the same shade of coral she’d worn ever since I could remember.
She looked behind me, her face lighting up when she spotted the Volvo. “It will be so nice to drive in a new car again.”
I said good-bye to Glen, then opened the door for my mother before climbing in behind the steering wheel. “I know it’s a bit of a drive, but we’re going to the Mount Pleasant branch. The book I have to renew came from there.”
She just nodded, clutching her purse on her lap like I used to when I rode the bus to work. Her hands reminded me of Helena’s, with the swollen joints and curled fingers, and I wondered absently if a lifetime of insensitivity could be a precursor to arthritis.
I glanced in the backseat to where I’d tossed The Art of Origami. I’d forgotten to ask Helena if she wanted it returned, so I’d decided to renew it. I needed to visit the library anyway, hoping to find some kind of travel guides or coffee table books on Hungary to give me a better visual of a country I’d known very little about a mere month before. I also wanted to find a few books to read to Helena, and I knew just where to look.
While searching for piano music, I’d found a hidden trove of well-read historical romance novels. They’d been tucked behind literary classics on bookshelves as well as under some of the sheet music in Bernadett’s baskets. I thought they might have belonged to Bernadett until I’d noticed the penciled-in HS on the inside covers. I’d laughed outright at the thought of Helena reading the books in secret and then hiding them from her sister. I thought of Bernadett’s austere bedroom and the type of person who would have lived in such a place and felt a tinge of sympathy for Helena.
I glanced at my mother in the bright light, realizing it had been a while since I’d seen her in broad daylight. The fine lines around her eyes had become etched wrinkles, although her chin and neck were still firm. If she’d married the kind of man her family had expected her to instead of an Edisto shrimper, she would have been able to take care of herself better, been able to afford a good colorist and regular facials. But even the blue of her eyes seemed to have faded, as if her stolen dreams had leached the colors from her face.